The latest addition to my website is François Mauriac‘s Le Désert de l’amour (The Desert of Love). While it does have Mauriac’s trademark doom and gloom, it also has a (very slight) glimmer of hope at the end. However, before we get to the end, we learn of the desert of love in the life of Paul, a doctor, and his son Raymond. Paul is unhappy in his marriage (through no fault of his wife) and does not get on with his son, daughter and son-in-law, though does make an occasional effort to do so. He has fallen in love with Maria Cross, a widow whose young son has recently died. At the beginning of the book, we learn that Raymond, in his mid-thirties, had met this woman seventeen years previously and that she had done something to him that caused him great bitterness. He now sees her again, thinking about revenge. The novel is, to a great extent, about what happened.
A recent study has concluded that US writers are more emotional than British ones, at least since around 1960 (they were about the same before). This is not a major surprise, except, perhaps, to Bridget Jones. However, what the study does not mention is what books they used, apart from the fact that they were fiction. Were they thrillers? Literary fiction? Children’s? Romance? Stephen King? J K Rowling? Stephenie Meyer? Hilary Mantel? Inevitably a US publication used the term stiff upper lip in its article on the topic. What is also not surprising is that US authors used a lot more words like independent, individual, unique, self, solitary and personal and far fewer using words like communal, team, collective, village, group and union. While this may be a terrible trait in a nation, as it means that the nation is essentially selfish (cf issues around gun control, health insurance, etc.), it does tend to produce better art, as the weird individual is generally going to be a better artist than the community-minded one. In passing, I would just mention that there is no doubt in my mind that, as a whole, the US has produced the best novels of the twentieth century.
British writing or, at least, English writing (did the study pay much attention to Welsh, Scottish and Northern Irish writing?) has been certainly more devoid of passion and individualism. We did not need a study to tell us that. Writers like Hilary Mantel, Ian McEwan and Graham Swift are noted more for producing cerebral writing and less for wearing their hearts on their sleeves. Even if they do describe emotions, as Mantel clearly does, they themselves do not show it, the way many US writers do. However, without knowing what books were used and the criteria for selecting those books, I think that we can say that the general conclusions of the study may well be valid and interesting, but we cannot deduce too much from it.
The latest addition to my website is Luigi Malerba‘s Il protagonista [The Protagonist]. This is a novel narrated by a penis. It is not the first novel featuring a penis by a major twentieth century Italian novelist. Alberto Moravia wrote a novel called Io e Lui, published in the US as Two: A Phallic Novel and in the UK as The Two of Us. However, this one is narrated by the penis, owned by a man known only as The Boss, who lives in a third floor flat in Rome by the Trevi Fountain and Spanish Steps. The Boss tries his luck with women, using his radio ham hobby as a way of meeting them. Meanwhile, the penis is dissatisfied at being kept hidden away all the time and not being allowed to, as he calls it, go into the garden. It is certainly an amusing novel, with Malerba’s usual quirkiness, and confirms what most women knew, that men are controlled by their penis and use it to think with.
The latest addition to my website is António Lobo Antunes‘ Que farei quando tudo arde? (What Can I Do When Everything’s On Fire?). Like Antunes’ other works, this one is not easy. Antunes writes from the point of view of various narrators, who speak in half sentences, stream of consciousness and repetition. The story is primarily told by Paulo Antunes Lima, the son of a teacher, Judite, and a drag queen, Carlos, who gave him to another couple, who had lost their daughter through illness. Much of the story tells of the drag queen and junkie world of Lisbon, to which Carlos and Paulo belong as well of Paulo’s understandable issues with both his biological and foster parents. No-one in this story can be said to be happy but it does give a fine portrait of a fragmented, grim world, a view Antunes has of the country as a whole.
The latest addition to my website is Emyr Humphreys‘s A Man’s Estate. It tells the story of a small village (and one man who has left the village when a baby) and how the activities of all of them affect all the others. Philip Elis was given up at birth by his mother to his aunt (and late father’s mistress), as his mother was so bitter about her late husband’s behaviour (mistresses, illegitimate child) that she wanted nothing to do with her newly born son. However, the farm on which his mother lives with her second husband and daughter from her first marriage is, technically, Philip’s. He needs the money so he is off to Wales to meet his mother, daughter, and stepfather for the first time. However, most of the novel concerns the inhabitants of the village and the many issues they seem to face and have faced, leading to a general crisis. It is certainly a gloomy novel, full of guilt, revenge and bitterness, but very well told.
Back in January, I commented on the forthcoming Granta list of the best 20 young novelists and, in particular, Philip Hensher’s comments thereon. Hensher had made his own suggestions as to who should be on the list – ten certs: Jon McGregor, Zadie Smith, Ned Beauman, Ross Raisin, Joe Dunthorne, Sarah Hall, Adam Foulds, Samantha Harvey, Nick Laird, and Paul Murray and ten possibles: Stuart Neville, Naomi Alderman, Evie Wyld, Neel Mukherjee, Courttia Newland, Tahmima Anam, Owen Sheers, Helen Walsh, Alex Preston, and Gwendoline Riley. Former Granta editor and Guardian columnist Alex Clark has now published her suggestions as well as an article on how the list is chosen (she was on the selection committee ten years ago). Clark just has one list. Those in bold above are on Clark’s list. She also has
Sam Byers, Edward Hogan, Stuart Evers, Stephen Kelman (of whom Hensher says I think the judges will pass over A.D. Miller and Stephen Kelman, relics of the worst Booker shortlist ever in 2011), Rebecca Hunt, Francesca Segal, Helen Oyeyemi and Kerry Hudson.
There are a couple of surprises. Clark has no Zadie Smith (though she does say that she may well appear again – she was on the list ten years ago). There is a precedent for writers appearing on two lists, with Adam Mars-Jones appearing on the first two lists despite the fact that his first novel was not published till after the second list was published. And Smith is younger than Sarah Hall who (quite rightly) appears on both the Hensher and Clark list. The same applies to Adam Thirlwell who is under forty but appeared on the last list. Neither list seems to be very strong on Welsh or Scottish authors. From Wales, what about Cynan Jones, Caryl Lewis or Gee Williams? And, from Scotland, there are Alan Bissett, Sophie Cooke and Eleanor Thom. Helen Oyeyemi did not make Hensher’s list though she has definitely moved up the rankings in the last couple of months. However, apart from Oyeyemi, Smith, McGregor, Hall and Paul Murray (who is not British but Irish), few have much of reputation, I would have thought.
The results are published by Granta on 15 April and you can bet that there will be a few surprises, including at least two or three who are not on either Hensher’s or Clark’s list and possibly including, as has happened before, two or three writers who have yet to have a novel published. Wouldn’t it be nice if they had on their list a writer who writes in Welsh, Gaelic or some other non-English language? Naah, it’s not going to happen.
The latest addition to my website is François Mauriac‘s Génitrix (Genitrix). This one is still the gloomy tale that we usually find with Mauriac. In this case, it involves a mother who treats her fifty year old son as a child and gets very jealous when he marries a much younger woman. She is even more jealous when the wife, Mathilde, becomes pregnant but not at all disappointed when Mathilde dies following a miscarriage. However, to her horror, she finds that Mathilde dead is far more of a rival for her son’s affection than Mathilde alive. As always, it is not the people who win but the Catholic gloom and guilt.
The latest addition to my website is Juan Marsé‘s El embrujo de Shanghai (Shanghai Nights). This is somewhat different from Marsé’s normal style, in that, while there are strong elements of realism, he does have his more fantastical elements. It is set in Barcelona just after the Spanish Civl War. The fourteen-year old Daniel is the narrator. He has to help an older man who was injured in the Civil War and who is, to say the least, somewhat eccentric. However, he also has to draw a picture of Susana, a fifteen-year old girl suffering from tuberculosis, and he befriends her. Her father, Kim, has had to leave Spain after the Civil War and it is one of his comrades who tells tales to Susana and Daniel of Kim’s dangerous mission to Shanghai to kill a former Gestapo agent and protect the wife of friend. The two stories – the mission to Shanghai, on the one hand, and Daniel, Susana and their friends and family, on the other – alternate and offer a strong contrast to one another. It is certainly one of Marsé’s most interesting books and is readily available in English.
The latest addition to my website is Amélie Nothomb‘s Biographie de la faim (The Life of Hunger). This one is similar to many of her other novels – the story of the young Amélie Nothomb on her travels. In this case, she follows the idea of hunger, not just for food but for anything we want but cannot easily have, while, at the same time, recounting her life as a child and the daughter of a Belgian diplomat. Japan, Bangladesh, Beijing, New York, Burma, Laos and Japan again are all grist to Nothomb’s mill as we get the usually quirky view of exotic cultures as seen from the point of view of a somewhat eccentric Belgian girl/woman as well as a host of amusing anecdotes. If you know Nothomb, you will know what to expect and, if you don’t, you will find this very amusing and pleasant reading.
The latest addition to my website is Parijat‘s शिरिषको फूल (Blue Mimosa), a novel by an Indian-born, Nepali writer and one of only two of her novels translated into English. Parijat was born in Darjeeling but moved to Nepal when she was seventeen and spent the rest of her life there, suffering from various health problems, but still writing poetry, stories and novels as well as being involved in charitable works. This is a very short novel and tells the story of a Nepali man, who has come back from World War II, empty and unhappy, and who has become an alcoholic. He makes friend with another drinker and, through him, meets the man’s three unmarried sisters. He is attracted to the middle sister, but she is headstrong, difficult and aggressive and things do not go very well, particularly when we learn what really happened to him in the war. Though it has been translated into English, it is sadly very difficult to get hold of in English, even though it was republished. A well-known online bookseller is currently quoting just one copy for sale – at £1000 (=$1500).