This book beautifully evokes the bittersweetness that comes from a combination of heady youth and soul consuming jazz. Sid and his bandmates clearly live and breathe music. They are young, they are talented, and they have the bravado to feel invincible, despite the risks associated with being young black men, playing a banned music style, in a racist and fearful society. While the Second World War is a constant backdrop to their lives, it seems far less terrifying than never quite laying the perfect track, or getting that one elusive girl, or, worst of all, realising that your musical talent simply isn't Good Enough.
Sid is a gentle character, and the story is told through his eyes, ebbing back and forth between present day America and Europe, and his regret-tinged memories of younger days in Paris and Berlin. We feel Sid's passion and compassion, and care about his connections to his bandmates, to his sometime-lover, to music itself. But as we oscillate between time periods, Sid's emotions seem less innocent; there are things he is hiding: from his friends; from the reader; perhaps even from himself. We can't help but wonder if this soft spoken man is really a protagonist in whom we should place our trust.
The present day sections opens a window into Sid's past, and suddenly the way he once seemed to tersely protect his emotional fragility appears more callous. Accusations are thrown from Sid's friends, from strangers, are even drawn from Sid's own secret heart of hearts. The past is often best kept buried, but this novel also teaches us that we must first make friends with it, rather than simply ignore it, as it has a way of catching up with us. A beautifully told story which will easily capture a musically inclined audience, and hook in many others as well.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Whoops
So normally when I write a 'whoops' post, it's to do with the fact that I have neglected the blogging project for some time. This is somewhat accurate in this case, and somewhat selling my efforts a little short. I had a massive reading spree, and borrowed lots of Man Bookery novels, and read a lot of them. But then I had so many more to get through that I didn't blog them, I just kept reading. Then it was report writing time. Then I moved house. Then Christmas, then New Year, then this blog post. Whoops. I am writing up blogs for a number of books I have read, but I must admit I am a little hazy. They were books read some months ago. I hope the entries don't entirely suck. Whoops.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
The Slap, Christos Tsiolkas
This was my first Man Booker read, and technically I didn't read it for that purpose. I have loved Tsiolkas' writing for a long time, since losing myself in the gothic darkness of "Dead Europe". Since then, I've read all of Tsiolkas' (often morbidly brutal) novels, and have wallowed in my addiction to his narrative voice, combined with utter loathing for character.
I find it funny when people describe how hard they found "The Slap" to read, on account of the characters having no redeeming features. That always marks the reader as a Tsiolkas virgin to me; "The Slap" characters may be unpleasant in ways, but they are nothing on the unseemliness of, say, the protaganist of "The Jesus Man". Tsiolkas loves to shock. In a way he follows an Australian suburban tradition of writing characters gritty and realistically depraved. Sure, his characters cheat and lie, or at least dream of it; but who hasn't experienced a semblance of such thoughts at some fleeting moment?
"The Slap" is somewhat watered down from Tsiolkas' prior novels, because the narrative voice jumps from character to character, meaning you needn't bathe too long in one character's nastiness. On the other hand, this does ensure that you can't pick a particular character out as the villain; they all have some form of fatal flaw. In other words, they're all human.
The novel's content has been well discussed in public media, particularly with the screening of the ABC mini-series adaptation. A child is slapped by an adult not his parent at a barbecue. The resulting outrage and legal proceedings threaten to shatter a formerly close group of friends and family.
I found the story interesting, but it was the structure which truly grabbed me. Tsiolkas doesn't simply tell the same moment of story from a number of different points of view. Each chapter is from the voice of a new character, yes; but it is also a chronological progression of the storyline, so that Hector's chapter tells a completely different section of the tale to Rosie's chapter.
Importantly, too, each chapter immerses the reader in the life of its narrator. We hear all of their innermost secrets, the kind they don't dare speak aloud. The intimacy with each character via only a single chapter is incredible, and at the same time does not sacrifice our understanding of the narrative as it rolls along. This is truly masterful storytelling, even if the tale told is somewhat confronting. An outstanding read, and certainly should have been shortlisted, in my opinion.
I find it funny when people describe how hard they found "The Slap" to read, on account of the characters having no redeeming features. That always marks the reader as a Tsiolkas virgin to me; "The Slap" characters may be unpleasant in ways, but they are nothing on the unseemliness of, say, the protaganist of "The Jesus Man". Tsiolkas loves to shock. In a way he follows an Australian suburban tradition of writing characters gritty and realistically depraved. Sure, his characters cheat and lie, or at least dream of it; but who hasn't experienced a semblance of such thoughts at some fleeting moment?
"The Slap" is somewhat watered down from Tsiolkas' prior novels, because the narrative voice jumps from character to character, meaning you needn't bathe too long in one character's nastiness. On the other hand, this does ensure that you can't pick a particular character out as the villain; they all have some form of fatal flaw. In other words, they're all human.
The novel's content has been well discussed in public media, particularly with the screening of the ABC mini-series adaptation. A child is slapped by an adult not his parent at a barbecue. The resulting outrage and legal proceedings threaten to shatter a formerly close group of friends and family.
I found the story interesting, but it was the structure which truly grabbed me. Tsiolkas doesn't simply tell the same moment of story from a number of different points of view. Each chapter is from the voice of a new character, yes; but it is also a chronological progression of the storyline, so that Hector's chapter tells a completely different section of the tale to Rosie's chapter.
Importantly, too, each chapter immerses the reader in the life of its narrator. We hear all of their innermost secrets, the kind they don't dare speak aloud. The intimacy with each character via only a single chapter is incredible, and at the same time does not sacrifice our understanding of the narrative as it rolls along. This is truly masterful storytelling, even if the tale told is somewhat confronting. An outstanding read, and certainly should have been shortlisted, in my opinion.
Monday, November 14, 2011
Pigeon English, Stephen Kelman
How exciting to discover, when I checked the 2011 Booker Shortlist, that I had actually read one of the shortlist. Not so far behind, after all! I'd found "Pigeon English" in my local bookstore, and immediately fallen in love.
Things I loved about "Pigeon English" before I even really started reading:
- The cover art.
The artwork is gorgeous, combining bird silhouettes with a boy's in a way that mimics one of those pysch pictures where you don't know if it's a duck or a rabbit. This really captured the sense of the book, too. While there were 'bad; characters, it was hard to shake the feeling that once they were just like the hero, Harrison. He's a young boy living in the London projects, and his main sources of inspiration are the boys around him, gangsters all.
- The list on the back.
"
Wars. Kids vs Teachers, Northwell Manor High vs Leabridge High, Dell Farm Crew vs Lewsey Hill Crew, Emos vs Sunshine, Turkey vs Russia, Arsenal vs Chelsea, Black vs White, Police vs Kids, God vs Allah, Chicken Joe’s vs KFC, Cats vs Dogs, Aliens vs Predators."
Things I loved about "Pigeon English" before I even really started reading:
- The cover art.
The artwork is gorgeous, combining bird silhouettes with a boy's in a way that mimics one of those pysch pictures where you don't know if it's a duck or a rabbit. This really captured the sense of the book, too. While there were 'bad; characters, it was hard to shake the feeling that once they were just like the hero, Harrison. He's a young boy living in the London projects, and his main sources of inspiration are the boys around him, gangsters all.
- The list on the back.
"
The list was so bittersweet. The concept of wars in kid-language is so heartwrenching. Some of these wars are serious wars that strike fear into the heart of adults (God vs Allah). Some are bitingly witty, and sum up the humour of the novel (Emos vs Sunshine). And others, like Chicken Joe's vs KFC, just underline how childish the protaganist is. At the heart of everything, he is a young boy in a cruel, fast paced world. As the reader, you are just hoping against hope that his reputation as the second fastest runner in Year 7 will help him to outrun any danger.
- The voice of Harry.
Harry is so unmistakably a child. Some of the adventures we follow him through are those of simple adolescence- trying to fit in with the cool crowd, his first girlfriend. Others are sadly adult, such as living through the aftermath of a murder in his community. And yet even the way he deals with this grief (to create a detective duo bent on finding the killer) is so juvenile, it made me ache. "Pigeon English" has been compared to the fabulous "Room", and I can see why. It shares the same gift of telling a story wholeheartdely through the eyes of a child, and both of those stories are sadly not the tale of childhood we would wish for our heroes.
Harry is so unmistakably a child. Some of the adventures we follow him through are those of simple adolescence- trying to fit in with the cool crowd, his first girlfriend. Others are sadly adult, such as living through the aftermath of a murder in his community. And yet even the way he deals with this grief (to create a detective duo bent on finding the killer) is so juvenile, it made me ache. "Pigeon English" has been compared to the fabulous "Room", and I can see why. It shares the same gift of telling a story wholeheartdely through the eyes of a child, and both of those stories are sadly not the tale of childhood we would wish for our heroes.
For me, "Pigeon English" is not just the tale of a childhood though, but of life robbing us of our innocence. The characters of the novel could all have been like Harry once, but life kept beating down on them until they cracked. Harry hasn't cracked yet, but you get the feeling it's only a matter of time before the world wins. A beautiful and often funny novel, but with a nagging twinge of sadness at the world we are creating for our children.
The Sisters Brothers, Patrick deWitt
At first, I thought "The Sisters Brothers" would be some family drama, a la TV show "Brothers & Sisters". Then I started reading, and the brotherly duo of Charlie and Eli reminded me somewhat of another highly enjoyable novel, "The Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart"- especially when Charlie and Eli stumbled across a supernatural occurrence or two. But magic proved to be less than the main theme, and "The Sisters Brothers" took on its own voice, and I became engrossed.
Charlie and Eli Sisters are not good men, but Eli wouldn't mind becoming one. He has had enough of the mercenary life; while he gets a thrill from his very name striking fear into the hearts of men, he also experiences moments of darkness and loneliness which make him long for death. He sees where all this is headed, and it is not good. He knows he needs to change his ways. If only he could convince his brother of the same.
The novel meanders along with a distinctly fantastical bent; characters recur for no reason or logic, things fall unexpectedly into place, and events bookend each other in pretty parallels. But "The Sisters Brothers" is also a Western, set in the Californian gold-rush, when men were manly. And thieving. And murderous. As a result the novel feels, well, more dusty than gritty.
"The Sisters Brothers" has been one of my favourite novels in a long time. A great re-entry back into the world of Booker novels, except that I fear it has set the bar too high for some others to match.
Charlie and Eli Sisters are not good men, but Eli wouldn't mind becoming one. He has had enough of the mercenary life; while he gets a thrill from his very name striking fear into the hearts of men, he also experiences moments of darkness and loneliness which make him long for death. He sees where all this is headed, and it is not good. He knows he needs to change his ways. If only he could convince his brother of the same.
The novel meanders along with a distinctly fantastical bent; characters recur for no reason or logic, things fall unexpectedly into place, and events bookend each other in pretty parallels. But "The Sisters Brothers" is also a Western, set in the Californian gold-rush, when men were manly. And thieving. And murderous. As a result the novel feels, well, more dusty than gritty.
"The Sisters Brothers" has been one of my favourite novels in a long time. A great re-entry back into the world of Booker novels, except that I fear it has set the bar too high for some others to match.
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