by ELG Gray

The Sea, The Sea

Page turner: 5/10
Heart tugger: 3/10
Thought provoker: 6/10
Overall: 2 stars

The strongest single word I can think of to describe Iris Murdoch’s The Sea, The Sea is:

Insufferable.

I realize that normally the word is applied to a single character, rather than an entire book (of them), but it still fits.

At first I found The Sea to be a bit quaint … sweet. A retired theatre-man by the name of Charles Arrowby turns out to have some hidden depths! He likes a more ‘basic’ life by the ocean, he starts to write his own memoirs/diary/autobiography. He has a way with words, and not too bad a means of doing ‘character sketches’ of the many people that have passed through his life. Sure, he’s a bit arrogant and self centred, but, so what?

But then the book keeps going, and not only does his own self-absorption become more apparent, so too does that of ALL the other characters. They all seem to be caricatures of themselves. Those whom Charles loves, we (the readers) quickly cannot stand. Don’t even get me STARTED on Hartley. Yes, he finds his ‘one lost love’. I don’t even feel bad telling you that. She’s … gross. Get over it.

Now, much of the point of the book is to really dig deep into the motivation of people – how love affects (and disaffects) us all, in so many ways. But do at the main characters need to be so insufferable to tell such a story? And did Murdoch need to throw in a few gratuitous hallucinations of dragon/Loch Ness style monsters and ‘Orientalism’ in the form of super-natural rescues? I really don’t think so. Maybe it was meant to be a nod to magical realism or some such. I just found it a bit peculiar, particularly in the context of this narrative.

So, clearly, not a winner for me. I read it. I’m OK with having read it. I liked BITS of it – there are moments of drama and of quiet smiles. But overall? Nah.

Nifty cover, though.

The Sea, The Sea

12.12.13

by ELG Gray

Vernon God Little

Page turner: 4/10
Heart tugger: 3/10
Thought provoker: 6/10
Overall: 2 stars

I got frustrated and read the last chapter of Vernon God Little when I was about half way through the book.

I got a serious telling off at work: ‘…who *does* that!?’

But I just couldn’t help it! What at first seems edgy and full of well-deployed vernacular just gets tedious. Everything everything is ‘fucken’ this and ‘fucken that’ and ‘up your asshole’ ‘shit shit shit’. Vernon, the teenage boy whose story you read, also has something of a bum/butt/ass/anal obsession going on. The book is a satire on the worst parts of American culture; so anything ‘obsessive’ is understandable in the characters, but I have my limits of understanding. So, I wanted to know if the story was really going to go anywhere, or if it would be an annoying, whiny, book. The good news was that I actually liked the ending. It’s sharp.

Having read the pretty good ending, I read the few chapters before that. They were alright. Shed a lot of light on the plot and in so doing, also were a lot more fluid that the jilted curse-word-narrated style of the rest of the book. As it happens, the book is about a high-school shooting in Texas. The teenage Vernon is the childhood friend of the murder (indelicately named Jesus), and is heavily implicated as a second shooter in the massacre. The book features homophobia, xenophobia, obesity, reality TV, gun ownership, and the death penalty for minors. And it is set in Texas. And of course his mother is a weirdo.

In the end, I did read the book. Just a bit see-saw like. At the end of it I do respect Pierre for ‘going for the jugular’ and for managing to tell a story with such harsh language. But I really just felt it lacked finesse, which to me, is what a satire should really be able to say is its forte. The story is simultaneously out-there and predictable; to the point where it became nearly impossible to empathize. And, given the subject matter, for all of the occasionally humorous quips – it wasn’t fun.

I can see potential in a daring author, but I’m not sure the execution (pardon the pun – but I can’t resist) worked this time.

10.23.13

by ELG Gray

Midnight’s Children

Page turner: 2/10
Heart tugger: 4/10
Thought provoker: 8/10
Overall: 2 stars

My copy of Midnight’s Children is 647 pages long. I know this, not because I finished reading the book only a few minutes ago, but because I have checked how many pages I have to go probably about 447 times (I didn’t check the first 100 – that’d be rude, and I could do the math quite easily the last 100). This book was long. And it was a chore.

Now before I rant overly much about the hard-slog-reading-that-is-the-first-two-thirds-of-this-book I would like to conduct a bit of a thought experiment that I learned whilst reading Daniel Kahneman’s book ‘Thinking Fast and Slow’. I think (hope?) Salman Rushdie would approve. The true experiment isn’t exactly possible, but hopefully you’ll get the idea. I am going to describe this book in 6 words. First, three positive words. Then, three negative words. Then I’ll do it the other way ’round. Using the same six words. Bear with.

Positive: magical, intelligent, organic
Negative: dense, meandering, self-important

Now, think for a second about what impression this leads you with. Now try to forget the words.

Ok.

Negative: dense, meandering, self-important
Positive: magical, intelligent, organic

Think again about what impression this description leaves you with.

In his book, Kahneman is using a similar experiment show how humans are effected by first impressions. It is meant to do a great deal more than describe novels, but hopefully I can use the device to demonstrate how I feel about this book, resulting in a confusing mix of ambiguity and frustration. Which, to be fair, is probably what Rushdie was going for.

In the positive-first scenario I go away thinking that Midnight’s Children is a book of magical realism, a splendidly original and creative piece of fiction that brilliantly characterizes the birth and trials of India as a nation, that happens to be a bit self-indulgent and long-winded. And, upon reading this description, I don’t disagree. The way in which Rushdie manages to tie the life of Saleem (the protagonist) inextricably from that of his country – from the moment of his birth through his first 31 years – is intellectually fascinating. And worthy of a place in the top 100 books of the 20th century. (It come’s 90th)

In the negative-first scenario I get the impression that a windy-but-intelligent author has a good idea, but it. He’s intentionally perverse. And a bit mad. My gosh does he use a lot of ellipses … It does … I think … get to be a bit much. And I know I am occasionally one to get carried away with punctuation and capitalization. And why the need to recap so often through the book? And isn’t the part in the jungle just a bit much? And it astounds me how a book can manage to be Both meandering AND dense. That is a literary feat fit only for as much sarcasm as I can muster. And, as I pause to re-read this description I also agree with myself. I didn’t like the book. There are lots of others that I think I would give awards and plaudits to, instead.

I both liked and didn’t like this book. My ratings err on the ‘didn’t like’ side as a word of caution. It took me nearly three weeks (including two inter-continental flights!) to read this book. It would normally take me days. But I do feel good for (finally!!) having read it.

The front cover of my copy has a quote by the Sunday Times that describes Midnight’s Children as ‘vital’. Whilst my personal taste would disagree with the connotation of necessity, I very much agree with the idea of this book having vitality. (If you can make it through the first quarter of the book – during which the main character and narrator hasn’t even told of his own birth.) There is humanity in this book. And it is an utterly original idea.

Finally, this book features on both the Modern Library and Man Booker prize lists. Which means, it was recognized in its day and retrospectively – which is impressive. And I can understand that it is of historical significance, and for the ‘positive scenario’ described above. I can understand, but not personally Agree with it purely because I found it to be quite so unreadable. It’s a book I am proud to have read, but wouldn’t particularly advise you to read!