Haunting vignettes of alienation and paranoia and an ice-cold examination of the horrors of having a mental illness before people understood mental ilHaunting vignettes of alienation and paranoia and an ice-cold examination of the horrors of having a mental illness before people understood mental illness. Stunning, chilling prose. ...more
These wildly digressive, absurdly technical ruminations of a former archaeologist turned tour guide isolating himself in a cave serve up a brief, bewiThese wildly digressive, absurdly technical ruminations of a former archaeologist turned tour guide isolating himself in a cave serve up a brief, bewildering square of Chevillard’s patented absurdism, with fewer hilarious moments than in the barmy marvels On the Ceiling or Demolishing Nisard. The prose is as well-buffed as usual, with the translator chipping in a witty footnote as a cheeky garnish....more
A solid slab of eighties social realism featuring a glittering array of class schisms, strikes, well-meaning wishy-washy liberals, and an unsound careA solid slab of eighties social realism featuring a glittering array of class schisms, strikes, well-meaning wishy-washy liberals, and an unsound care-home orphan nicknamed Orph around which the zeitgeist revolves. Perfect for fans of vintage eighties violence à la Alan Clarke and early Mike Leigh....more
A watery comedy concerning the peepage of mermaids by two honeymooners and a marine biologist, and a corporation’s speedy attempt to harness said mermA watery comedy concerning the peepage of mermaids by two honeymooners and a marine biologist, and a corporation’s speedy attempt to harness said mermaids for their own shilling enhancement. A sassy, witty female narrator is your companion across this wry, unfocused novel, a frolic in the froth that lacks an incisive satirical chomp....more
Richard Ingham was a one-book wonder, swinging onto the scene in 1974 with an early publication from the fledgling Allison & Busby, slapping this limiRichard Ingham was a one-book wonder, swinging onto the scene in 1974 with an early publication from the fledgling Allison & Busby, slapping this limitlessly silly comedy thriller on the table, then vanishing forever. Subtitled in a reissue as an “amoral romp”, Yoris follows a frustrated private school teacher who insinuates himself into a pharmaceutical company to steal the secret formula of a male contraceptive pill, while courting two lovers on the side, one of whom has large breasts that the narrator is keen for Yoris to fondle at every available opportunity. A dated, anarchic, utterly stupid romp, not too far from Richard Kluger’s (far better) National Anthem. If you ever stumble upon Yoris at a bookfair or buried in a second-hand bookshop, pick it up and indulge your inner smutty teen....more
In stark contrast to fellow countryman Jon Fosse’s mesmeric, insular style, The Seducer is an unashamedly plump, digressive, and saucy monster of a noIn stark contrast to fellow countryman Jon Fosse’s mesmeric, insular style, The Seducer is an unashamedly plump, digressive, and saucy monster of a novel, where a narrator besotted with the Golden Balls™ of architect and TV presenter Jonas Wergeland serves up a minutiae’s minutiae of the man’s life, elevating all instances of the things happening to Jonas from moment to moment to mythical status. A leisurely, philosophical, lyrical and playful epic, written in compelling waves of over-explanatory prose (averse to dialogue), with a grandiosity bordering on the farcical, Kjærstad’s novel is a perfect turn-of-the-century postmodern Proustesque beast to wrap your intellectual gnashers around whenever you may feel compelled to indulge your gnashers in that sort of thing....more
An elegiac, chatty novel set on the Danish island of Sandø, exploring the foibles and minor mishaps of the inhabitants, related to us through the accoAn elegiac, chatty novel set on the Danish island of Sandø, exploring the foibles and minor mishaps of the inhabitants, related to us through the accounts of a schoolteacher lacking in truthiness. A hearty, folksy novel heavy on religious and philosophical musings that wafts too often into the banal. ...more
Enthusiasts of Markson’s taut, mercurial, trivia-packed antinovels will find little pleasure in this unmitigated shambles of a novel, the writer’s firEnthusiasts of Markson’s taut, mercurial, trivia-packed antinovels will find little pleasure in this unmitigated shambles of a novel, the writer’s first attempt at literary brilliance in the form of a muddled impersonation of Malcolm Lowry’s Under the Volcano. Unlike Markson’s earlier pulp parodies, the freewheeling bawdiness of Springer’s Progress, and the drollery of the mosaic-like non-novels, Going Down is a novel of self-conscious grandiloquence, an overseasoned borscht of bizarre, maddening scenes where characters speak in sub-DeLilloan non-sequiturs (most of them unfinished) and strained olde-worlde phrases within meandering psychological sketches of unhinged women whose realities might or might not be taking place. This soup of hair-tearing incoherence takes place (or does it—what is really real, hombre?) in a Mexican topos of some description within a style so laughably pretentious the reader might have wandered into a Gilbert Sorrentino parody, à la Mulligan Stew’s sur-neofictional mystery Guinea Red. Markson’s talents as a wizard word-slinger peacock across the page here—alas, it would take the more subdued form of Wittgenstein’s Mistress for his talents to explode in the reader’s unworthy face. (Bailed on p.222)....more
A novel of demented bereavement told in the form of unrestrained and/or unfinished letters to various former spousal carers, friends, and clerks of thA novel of demented bereavement told in the form of unrestrained and/or unfinished letters to various former spousal carers, friends, and clerks of the court from the grieving narrator also called Gordon Lish. As in Lish’s previous work, the peculiar placement of the words in the whirl of the sentence where in the whirl the words are at their whirliest and weirdest the words themselves often weird comical blindsides to whit “jibby-jibby” and the like alike. Lish is the most peculiar, disconcerting American writer out there—one minute hitting you will hilarious, freewheeling rants, the next obscure self-referential jibby-jibby, the next subtle and haunting insights into the tragic farce of mortality, giving him a candour to shame the sentimental realists and the cynical heart-tuggers.
A random non-fiction plucking from a library shelf is my usual remedy for a reading slump, allowing me the chance to sober up from a month-long binge A random non-fiction plucking from a library shelf is my usual remedy for a reading slump, allowing me the chance to sober up from a month-long binge of glorious fiction with the hard slap of fact. This book from a polling wonk at IPSOS presents a series of charts and glosses on those charts showing how wrong people are when called upon to make assumptions based on no prior data. As I discovered reading this detailed pseudo-academic thesis, the world of people making inaccurate assumptions about issues with no prior data is far less interesting than I previously assumed—20% less tedium, 40% more intellectual fireworks, and 80% quicker reading time were my predictions—meaning I will lower my expectations around social science books from polling wonks on how wrong people are when they are asked to make assumptions from a position of ignorance in future. Lesson learned. ...more
A novel of village life, a portrait of the calm hubbub of humanity written in prose often as striking as the Argyll landscape. The calm and tender expA novel of village life, a portrait of the calm hubbub of humanity written in prose often as striking as the Argyll landscape. The calm and tender exploration of ordinary folk’s foibles is a tricky feat to achieve without drifting into dullness—this novel almost succeeds. ...more
