Notes & Counter Notes: Writings on the Theatre, Eugene Ionesco (translator Donald Watson)
A collection not only of Ionesco's own writings, but which also includes a famous (in its day) exchange of letters and articles between Ionesco and his critics. This is a highlight of the book and a valuable piece of commentary on Ionesco's theatre. It's nice to read it in the original English - in the book's original French, this section had to be translated... Touch of irony there.
This is another book that replaces the French version on my shelves. The funny thing is, there was one specific Ionesco quote that I remembered from this book, concerning his fascination with language: "Ils se parlent. Ils se comprennent. C'est ca qui m'etonnait." ("People talk to each other - they understand each other. It's that which astonished me.") But damned if I can find it anywhere in here. I can't even find it on Google now. Has the memory cheated?
There then followed a bout of Poirot-mania. The Lovely Jo and I have progressed from watching ITV3's patchy Poirot repeats to renting and buying the DVDs (and renting other "1930s detective" DVDs, of which more may follow), to re-reading the books.
There's a catch here in that at the start of the month we didn't own any of the books - readers may recall that I once went through a Christie phase, but all the books went down to the second-hand shop years ago for reasons of space. The books that both of us have read this month and are likely to read over the next few months as well are therefore a mix of library copies, friends' copies, and a few select titles that I decided I would actually like to own after all.
(I've discovered a very attractive edition of Christie's novels that was apparently sold as a partwork about five years ago, several hundred copies of which have since ended up in second-hand bookshops. However, as seems to be the way with partworks, the later issues had smaller runs and it doesn't look as though anybody who stuck it out as far as Curtain is prepared to sell their copy second-hand. I'm keeping my eye on Abebooks, but in the meantime a cheap paperback edition is holding its place on the shelf.)
They're pretty good reading - light, entertaining, only a couple of hundred pages long. They're like book candy. You can pop a couple in in a week without difficulty.
Curtain: Poirot's Last Case, Agatha Christie
This one's a keeper. I could go on about it all day - the murderer's unusual method, the startling ending (so who's really won - Poirot? the murderer? both?), the whole dramatic scope of it (it's really Poirot vs the very idea of murder itself, as much as it's Poirot vs the murderer).
The only problem with it is that it's very definitely set in the 1940s (when it was written and then locked away, just in case Christie didn't survive WW2 - it seems to be set just after WW2, although at the time this must just have been wishful thinking on Christie's part), which doesn't fit too well with Poirot's continued career during the '50s, '60s and '70s. Apparently this is a well-known problem within Christie fandom, which most fans prefer to address by fudging the dates in this one book and simply pretending that he wasn't over 100 years old when he died. Personally I prefer ITV's solution of setting the entire rest of the series in an endlessly repeating 1936.
The Life and Times of Hercule Poirot, Anne Hart
Looked like it might be an interesting overview of the Poirot stories, but it doesn't go far enough for my liking. It's descriptive, but not interpretative (it doesn't even try to tackle the Poirot age problem). It does, however, give a good analysis of Poirot's character, and it's very light reading. Also manages to avoid spoiling the endings of the books, for the most part.
Murder in the Mews, Agatha Christie
Four novellas - or at least, three novellas and a moderately long short story. The short story is fairly negligible, but the other three are pretty good.
Mrs McGinty's Dead, Agatha Christie
Better than I'd remembered. It's got quite a lively sense of humour, which contrasts with ITV's idea that their more recent adaptations should be darker to reflect the allegedly more serious tone of the later books. Also gives a very good picture of small town life in the 1950s, and the everyday characters are a profound contrast with the upper class set of Poirot's '30s adventures.
The Clocks, Agatha Christie
First time of reading this one. A little bit turgid, and Poirot doesn't even show up until halfway through. When he does show up, he's on a dare to solve the case without leaving his flat, so in effect this is Christie trying to please the readers by including Poirot while pleasing herself by sidelining him. Poirot also plucks the final revelations out of the air rather more than he usually does, which makes for unsatisfying reading.
What is interesting is the way that this book comes across as a spy thriller (but thankfully not in the line of Christie's other, slightly dodgy spy thrillers) for most of its length. It almost feels like an attempt to spoof James Bond, who at the time of publication (1963) would have been stealing the crime-lovin' public's attention away from Christie's old-fashioned detectives. The Colonel Beck material is brilliant, though. I'd love to see him turn up in a Jasper Fforde novel. He's so obviously a Jurisfiction agent working undercover.
Three Act Tragedy, Agatha Christie
A middling novel. For no particular reason it features Mr Satterthwaite, crime fiction's greatest undiagnosed split-personality sufferer, although he takes a back seat to Poirot and doesn't actually solve anything here. Bizarrely Christie tells you right up front exactly whodunnit, and then trusts you to forget she said anything. Hey ho. Even if she hadn't, it'd be pretty easy to guess it outright.
The Murder on the Links, Agatha Christie
The second ever Poirot novel, and the one in which she marries off Captain Hastings. The prose is still at an early stage of development - characters and the narrator repeat entire phrases within paragraphs of each other in a way that's somewhat awkward for the reader. There's also a certain amount of melodramatic shennanigans between Hastings, the future Mrs Hastings and Poirot that doesn't sit too well with me. I'm inclined to think that the ITV scriptwriter made the right changes with this one. Can't really see the love interest's daring denouement acrobatics working in any way.
Murder in Mesopotamia, Agatha Christie
Halfway through this one. First time of reading, but I know how it ends thanks to the TV adaptation. So far the prose is good and the backstory is only a little bit improbable (it'll get more so by the end...). Subject to a final opinion after finishing, I'd place this in the second tier of Christies.
Edit: Yes, not quite the top ten but a high second-ranker.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Sunday, May 17, 2009
A mirrorball-faced gimp and two breakdancing mimes
Yes, it's Eurovision time again. "I don't know where some of those shots were taken, but that's not the Moscow I'm staying in," said Graham Norton over the opening sequence - damn right, I've seen Moscow, it's a concrete hell. Personally I'm amazed they found a bit of Moscow with trees in it for their half-time vox pops. Overall we think Norton measured up well as a replacement for Terry Wogan. That Norton was off the booze owing to his recent injury may have helped - Norton dry has just about the familiar tone of grumpiness we used to get with Wogan drunk, but with an extra dash of bitchiness thrown in.
An even more subdued contest this year - where were all the comedy entries? (Filtered out in the semi-finals, one assumes.) And why so much monochrome? We were starting to wonder if the TV was working properly (and then the Portuguese entry appeared...). Also disappointing that the second half should be so dominated by songs sung in English - it's a lot more noticeable when they all come along at once like that.
On the plus side, the voting was a lot more balanced this year - you mean they actually got panels of industry experts to judge the entries on their musical merit? The very idea! On the other plus side, not a lot of echoing of last year's winner. It's usual to see more than one knock-off of the previous year's most successful act, so I was bracing myself for several Peter Andre lookalikes in white jackets, but in the end we only got one, which was a mercy.
And now, read on...
Lithuania. Sung half in English. Not much to say about this one - decidedly hum ho. Is he really playing that piano? (The rules may say the lead vocal has to be performed live, but do they say anything about instruments?) "Aaaaaaaahhhhhh - my hand's on fire!" seem to have been the final lyrics.
Israel. Sung half in English. Barring a couple of minor scrapes on the high notes, pretty damn good. Scores for some nice harmonies, also scores bonus points for worthiness. I quite like the olive oil tin drums too. The only obvious downside is that presentation is close to zero. I mean, it's all well and good not having explosions, giant props and so on, but one can go too far the other way. The audience aren't very likely to remember this one when the voting starts.
France. What, no comedy entry? No pissing about at all? From the French?! Truly, Eurovision died tonight! A very ordinary ballad, and the surprise Tales of the Unexpected ending can't rescue it from its mire of dullness.
Sweden. Sung half in English, half in... French? Say, aren't these extruded, reconstituted Beatles lyrics? By and large I quite like what Graham Norton calls "popera", although it does go a bit Fifth Element towards the end (well, if you've seen the film, you'll know what I mean). But what the hell is going on with those masks?
Croatia. Surpriiiiise! Now where was he hiding her? Ew, put her back! Put her back!! At least he can sing. This song could've been a contender if it weren't for the female vocalist.
Portugal. Wouch, my eyes! I think we see who's stolen all the colour from the previous five entries. The overall effect is something like a live action Magic Roundabout. Good selection of instruments on show, that's always a plus. There's a very familiar song hiding underneath this one - but what? If I were to listen repeatedly to this for a week, I expect it'd come to me, but there are some questions that just aren't worth answering.
Iceland. Sung in English. Look out - giant dolphin! It's amazing to think that we've got through six whole entries without a single bad key change. Alas, no sooner did I think that... Look out - nuclear attack! A very bland song, and the background material seems to have been lifted straight out of a five-year-old girl's head (well, apart from the apparent nuclear blast at the end). I'm sure it's exactly what Europe's looking for, god help it.
Greece. Sung in English. And here he is, the only act trying to imitate last year's winning Russian entry. So what we have here are Chicane offcuts being performed by Petros Andropoulos while he suffers some sort of convulsions on a conveyor belt. Red Alert! Red Alert! Key change incoming! Nice of them to signal that one in advance for us. Apparently the bookies rated this one highly. Ha ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha ha ha.
Armenia. Sung half in English. Hey, ladies, why not just pick a note and stick to it? Oh, now you're just shouting. "Sister - here we go!" Ugh. Foul indeed. Throw in a key change and you've got the complete misshapen package.
Russia. Hey, it's Servalan! Now what I want to know is, how on Earth does she manage to sing out of tune with herself? All things considered, this is an extremely wretched item. It's pretty clear Moscow doesn't want the cost of having to host Eurovision again next year.
Azerbaijan. Sung in English. Now, what we seem to have here is Napoleon in the Wild West cat house. It's by no means a bad number. The balalaika middle eight is a very nice touch. Bonus points for having no nasty key change. Should do well.
Bosnia & Herzegovina. And here's another act in bloody Napoleonic jackets. Is there some sort of vogue in Europe at the moment for Napoleonic jackets? And if so, dammit, why wasn't I told? (Memo to self...) Definite militaristic undertones to this one - must check the news tomorrow to see if there's been a coup... This pretty much forms a matching pair with the previous entry. Think I might give this one the edge for singing in their own language.
Moldova. An interesting choice of brass sounds to open with - it sounds like a folk version of "Casino Royale"! Ick, morris dancing. And what's the guy at the back doing with that mop? The rap middle eight was, putting it charitably, a bad choice.
Malta. Sung in English. The synth pan pipes are a bit 1990s. Hmm, took a bit of panning for the camera to get her in shot. This is a very static performance - ha, she had to move the microphone stand to make it look like something was happening on stage! A very ordinary song, and with a key change too. Not a contender.
Estonia. Nice use of strings. You get bonus points for cellos. Hey, look, she plays the violin too! And extra points for no key change. Definitely a goer.
Denmark. Sung in English. What can I add to Graham Norton's own comments about this one? Who's that playing the keyboard? It looks like Tom Jones dressed as a tramp. And astonishingly, sixteen acts in we get the first gratuitous pyrotechnics of the evening! (Well, apart from the Lithuanian guy's flaming hand.) Now that deserves extra special demerits.
Germany. Sung in English. After last year's horrific wrong turn, they've gone back to the swing band sound. More pyrotechnics - once they've popped, they won't stop. Whose idea were the Bacofoil trousers? Hmm, more than a little evidence of robbing from "Minnie the Moocher" here.
Turkey. Sung (or rather, shouted) in English. Couldn't they have found a singer who could, well, sing? Or a fill-in dancer in the same costume as the others (or at least of the same gender)? Bondage acrobat - attack!
Albania. Sung in English. Now here's a thing. We have a seventeen-year-old vocalist in a tiny pink baby-doll outfit, and she's by far the least interesting thing on the stage. Look at the freaky backing dancers! A green mirrorball-faced gimp and two breakdancing mimes! Get rid of the singer, let's just have three minutes of these guys! Deserves strong bonus points for sheer visual freakiness, but sadly we'll have to dock those back off again for that very nasty key change.
Norway. Sung in English. A disturbing mixture of Riverdance and "Save All Your Kisses For Me", this is just nasty. Someone, get the Square Jaw Kid and his stick-on eyebrows out of there. Bring the gimp and the mimes back on, why not. Apparently this one's the bookies' favourite (and, as with last year's contest, they were proved right - there's no justice).
Ukraine. Sung in English. You know you're watching Eurovision when you've just seen three semi-naked Roman centurions pelvic-thrusting their way across the stage. Eye bleach, please. The singing's very bad, but she gets points for playing her own drums and for sticking to the original key.
Romania. Sung in English. Apart from the women morris dancing, utterly unremarkable. Doomed to sink without trace.
United Kingdom. Nng, R&B singing. I hate R&B singing. Ooh, an interesting time signature. Damn, dramatic key change. And the violinists were doing such a good job of holding it together. Well, we've put 'em on the line with this one - a reality TV show, a Continent-wide promotional campaign, and the gnome-like one himself playing the piano on stage. But let's be honest - we don't really want to win the contest. We don't really want that cost in the present economic climate, not when we've already foolishly taken on the 2012 Olympics. We just want to do moderately well. I'm confident that we can manage that - this is clearly better than a lot of recent UK Eurovision entries, and it's not up against an awful lot of competition tonight.
Finland. Sung in English. Whatever happened to Vanilla Ice? Well, I think if we just look down this alleyway... Seriously, whose idea was it to dress the set with oil drum braziers? Pyros to the max! As if the fire jugglers and the oil drums weren't enough.
Spain. Sung half in English. Send in the Barry Manilow Tumblers! Ooh, a little stage magic as well. This act's got it all. Sadly including gratuitous pyros and a very shrill final note.
So, here's my personal top five this year. Let's see if I can get any of them right: Estonia, Israel, Bosnia & Herzegovina, Portugal, and why not, the UK. Actual top five: Norway (bah!), Iceland (bah!), Azerbaijan (fair enough), Turkey (bah!), and... the UK! Good news for the UK there. Still, the best act of the evening may well have been the crew of the International Space Station declaring the voting lines open.
An even more subdued contest this year - where were all the comedy entries? (Filtered out in the semi-finals, one assumes.) And why so much monochrome? We were starting to wonder if the TV was working properly (and then the Portuguese entry appeared...). Also disappointing that the second half should be so dominated by songs sung in English - it's a lot more noticeable when they all come along at once like that.
On the plus side, the voting was a lot more balanced this year - you mean they actually got panels of industry experts to judge the entries on their musical merit? The very idea! On the other plus side, not a lot of echoing of last year's winner. It's usual to see more than one knock-off of the previous year's most successful act, so I was bracing myself for several Peter Andre lookalikes in white jackets, but in the end we only got one, which was a mercy.
And now, read on...
Lithuania. Sung half in English. Not much to say about this one - decidedly hum ho. Is he really playing that piano? (The rules may say the lead vocal has to be performed live, but do they say anything about instruments?) "Aaaaaaaahhhhhh - my hand's on fire!" seem to have been the final lyrics.
Israel. Sung half in English. Barring a couple of minor scrapes on the high notes, pretty damn good. Scores for some nice harmonies, also scores bonus points for worthiness. I quite like the olive oil tin drums too. The only obvious downside is that presentation is close to zero. I mean, it's all well and good not having explosions, giant props and so on, but one can go too far the other way. The audience aren't very likely to remember this one when the voting starts.
France. What, no comedy entry? No pissing about at all? From the French?! Truly, Eurovision died tonight! A very ordinary ballad, and the surprise Tales of the Unexpected ending can't rescue it from its mire of dullness.
Sweden. Sung half in English, half in... French? Say, aren't these extruded, reconstituted Beatles lyrics? By and large I quite like what Graham Norton calls "popera", although it does go a bit Fifth Element towards the end (well, if you've seen the film, you'll know what I mean). But what the hell is going on with those masks?
Croatia. Surpriiiiise! Now where was he hiding her? Ew, put her back! Put her back!! At least he can sing. This song could've been a contender if it weren't for the female vocalist.
Portugal. Wouch, my eyes! I think we see who's stolen all the colour from the previous five entries. The overall effect is something like a live action Magic Roundabout. Good selection of instruments on show, that's always a plus. There's a very familiar song hiding underneath this one - but what? If I were to listen repeatedly to this for a week, I expect it'd come to me, but there are some questions that just aren't worth answering.
Iceland. Sung in English. Look out - giant dolphin! It's amazing to think that we've got through six whole entries without a single bad key change. Alas, no sooner did I think that... Look out - nuclear attack! A very bland song, and the background material seems to have been lifted straight out of a five-year-old girl's head (well, apart from the apparent nuclear blast at the end). I'm sure it's exactly what Europe's looking for, god help it.
Greece. Sung in English. And here he is, the only act trying to imitate last year's winning Russian entry. So what we have here are Chicane offcuts being performed by Petros Andropoulos while he suffers some sort of convulsions on a conveyor belt. Red Alert! Red Alert! Key change incoming! Nice of them to signal that one in advance for us. Apparently the bookies rated this one highly. Ha ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha ha ha.
Armenia. Sung half in English. Hey, ladies, why not just pick a note and stick to it? Oh, now you're just shouting. "Sister - here we go!" Ugh. Foul indeed. Throw in a key change and you've got the complete misshapen package.
Russia. Hey, it's Servalan! Now what I want to know is, how on Earth does she manage to sing out of tune with herself? All things considered, this is an extremely wretched item. It's pretty clear Moscow doesn't want the cost of having to host Eurovision again next year.
Azerbaijan. Sung in English. Now, what we seem to have here is Napoleon in the Wild West cat house. It's by no means a bad number. The balalaika middle eight is a very nice touch. Bonus points for having no nasty key change. Should do well.
Bosnia & Herzegovina. And here's another act in bloody Napoleonic jackets. Is there some sort of vogue in Europe at the moment for Napoleonic jackets? And if so, dammit, why wasn't I told? (Memo to self...) Definite militaristic undertones to this one - must check the news tomorrow to see if there's been a coup... This pretty much forms a matching pair with the previous entry. Think I might give this one the edge for singing in their own language.
Moldova. An interesting choice of brass sounds to open with - it sounds like a folk version of "Casino Royale"! Ick, morris dancing. And what's the guy at the back doing with that mop? The rap middle eight was, putting it charitably, a bad choice.
Malta. Sung in English. The synth pan pipes are a bit 1990s. Hmm, took a bit of panning for the camera to get her in shot. This is a very static performance - ha, she had to move the microphone stand to make it look like something was happening on stage! A very ordinary song, and with a key change too. Not a contender.
Estonia. Nice use of strings. You get bonus points for cellos. Hey, look, she plays the violin too! And extra points for no key change. Definitely a goer.
Denmark. Sung in English. What can I add to Graham Norton's own comments about this one? Who's that playing the keyboard? It looks like Tom Jones dressed as a tramp. And astonishingly, sixteen acts in we get the first gratuitous pyrotechnics of the evening! (Well, apart from the Lithuanian guy's flaming hand.) Now that deserves extra special demerits.
Germany. Sung in English. After last year's horrific wrong turn, they've gone back to the swing band sound. More pyrotechnics - once they've popped, they won't stop. Whose idea were the Bacofoil trousers? Hmm, more than a little evidence of robbing from "Minnie the Moocher" here.
Turkey. Sung (or rather, shouted) in English. Couldn't they have found a singer who could, well, sing? Or a fill-in dancer in the same costume as the others (or at least of the same gender)? Bondage acrobat - attack!
Albania. Sung in English. Now here's a thing. We have a seventeen-year-old vocalist in a tiny pink baby-doll outfit, and she's by far the least interesting thing on the stage. Look at the freaky backing dancers! A green mirrorball-faced gimp and two breakdancing mimes! Get rid of the singer, let's just have three minutes of these guys! Deserves strong bonus points for sheer visual freakiness, but sadly we'll have to dock those back off again for that very nasty key change.
Norway. Sung in English. A disturbing mixture of Riverdance and "Save All Your Kisses For Me", this is just nasty. Someone, get the Square Jaw Kid and his stick-on eyebrows out of there. Bring the gimp and the mimes back on, why not. Apparently this one's the bookies' favourite (and, as with last year's contest, they were proved right - there's no justice).
Ukraine. Sung in English. You know you're watching Eurovision when you've just seen three semi-naked Roman centurions pelvic-thrusting their way across the stage. Eye bleach, please. The singing's very bad, but she gets points for playing her own drums and for sticking to the original key.
Romania. Sung in English. Apart from the women morris dancing, utterly unremarkable. Doomed to sink without trace.
United Kingdom. Nng, R&B singing. I hate R&B singing. Ooh, an interesting time signature. Damn, dramatic key change. And the violinists were doing such a good job of holding it together. Well, we've put 'em on the line with this one - a reality TV show, a Continent-wide promotional campaign, and the gnome-like one himself playing the piano on stage. But let's be honest - we don't really want to win the contest. We don't really want that cost in the present economic climate, not when we've already foolishly taken on the 2012 Olympics. We just want to do moderately well. I'm confident that we can manage that - this is clearly better than a lot of recent UK Eurovision entries, and it's not up against an awful lot of competition tonight.
Finland. Sung in English. Whatever happened to Vanilla Ice? Well, I think if we just look down this alleyway... Seriously, whose idea was it to dress the set with oil drum braziers? Pyros to the max! As if the fire jugglers and the oil drums weren't enough.
Spain. Sung half in English. Send in the Barry Manilow Tumblers! Ooh, a little stage magic as well. This act's got it all. Sadly including gratuitous pyros and a very shrill final note.
So, here's my personal top five this year. Let's see if I can get any of them right: Estonia, Israel, Bosnia & Herzegovina, Portugal, and why not, the UK. Actual top five: Norway (bah!), Iceland (bah!), Azerbaijan (fair enough), Turkey (bah!), and... the UK! Good news for the UK there. Still, the best act of the evening may well have been the crew of the International Space Station declaring the voting lines open.
Sunday, May 03, 2009
Books read in April
An Utterly Impartial History of Britain, or 2000 Years of Upper Class Idiots in Charge, John O'Farrell
A humorous write-up of British history, it seemed a natural choice of read after The Decline and Fall of Practically Everybody. I wouldn't put it quite in that league, though. Much of the text is either valuably informative or (more rarely) dryly witty, but there's also a large helping of the sort of humour you find in certain Radio 4 comedies. The kind that you don't tune in for after the first week. Most of it's presented as imagined dialogue, so you can bet O'Farrell's already got his eye on a radio adaptation, or at least the talking book market. Worse yet were the frequent moments when, clearly feeling compelled to show his learning and/or avoid outraged letters, O'Farrell would cap a section of dialogue-humour with a footnote beginning "Actually...".
It was hard going to trawl through the flat material in search of the occasional gems of wit, notwithstanding the sheer size of the book. I had to pause just after the Tudors (barely halfway through) to read the following two books and revive my flagging spirits.
The Theatre of the Absurd, Martin Esslin
Yer seminal critical work on the theatre of Eugene Ionesco, Samuel Beckett and others like them. I'd previously only read the chapter on Ionesco back in school, and was tempted by the shiny revised paperback edition (now with added Harold Pinter!). Mmm, delicious absurdist theatre.
Why I Have Not Written Any Of My Books, Marcel Benabou (translator David Kornacker)
Hard work for little reward. Considering how short this book is (less than 100 pages, once you discount all the blank pages between chapters), that's no mean feat.
It sounds like it ought to be fun - I mean, would you ignore a book with that title? Benabou, or possibly an anonymous narrator (it depends on whether you take it as fiction or not) explains at great length why he keeps failing to write a novel. It could have been a wry satire on the world of writers and writing, perhaps even laugh-out-loud. The people quoted on the back cover seem to have thought that it was. Somehow it just never came to life for me - there wasn't any sparkle, just page after page of florid prose and those peculiarly French extra-long multi-claused sentences.
This is a shame, as Benabou's a member of the Oulipo, and so in my mind his work came with the, if you will, implicit recommendation of Perec and Queneau. Perhaps I should hold onto it and try again at some point - it's only one or two days' reading anyway. First impression, however, is not good. After this I was ready to limp back to the rest of the O'Farrell.
The Dragon's Nine Sons, Chris Roberson
A bit of light reading, adventure by the book. A misfit group of soldiers under arrest are given the chance to escape execution by going on a top secret suicide mission, and oh, you know the rest. The key difference here is that the story takes place in a parallel future where the space race was between the Empires of China and the Aztecs. (The title sounds like it might be a colourful Chinese description of the solar system, but turns out in fact to refer to the story's Dirty Three-Quarters-Of-A-Dozen.)
It's an interesting set-up, but owing to the nature of the story it isn't developed in very great detail - the Mexica (as the Aztec Empire is called here) is only seen from outside, but we do see a lot more of it than of the Chinese Empire. Most of the book is preoccupied with revealing the soldiers' various stories of shame and having them bump heads with each other before developing a grudging respect, etc, on board the cramped spacecraft in which they plan to infiltrate a Mexica asteroid base. An excess of background world-building here would only detract from the much smaller-scale character story at the heart of the book.
By no means mould-breaking, but enjoyable. Familiar, in a pleasant sort of way.
A humorous write-up of British history, it seemed a natural choice of read after The Decline and Fall of Practically Everybody. I wouldn't put it quite in that league, though. Much of the text is either valuably informative or (more rarely) dryly witty, but there's also a large helping of the sort of humour you find in certain Radio 4 comedies. The kind that you don't tune in for after the first week. Most of it's presented as imagined dialogue, so you can bet O'Farrell's already got his eye on a radio adaptation, or at least the talking book market. Worse yet were the frequent moments when, clearly feeling compelled to show his learning and/or avoid outraged letters, O'Farrell would cap a section of dialogue-humour with a footnote beginning "Actually...".
It was hard going to trawl through the flat material in search of the occasional gems of wit, notwithstanding the sheer size of the book. I had to pause just after the Tudors (barely halfway through) to read the following two books and revive my flagging spirits.
The Theatre of the Absurd, Martin Esslin
Yer seminal critical work on the theatre of Eugene Ionesco, Samuel Beckett and others like them. I'd previously only read the chapter on Ionesco back in school, and was tempted by the shiny revised paperback edition (now with added Harold Pinter!). Mmm, delicious absurdist theatre.
Why I Have Not Written Any Of My Books, Marcel Benabou (translator David Kornacker)
Hard work for little reward. Considering how short this book is (less than 100 pages, once you discount all the blank pages between chapters), that's no mean feat.
It sounds like it ought to be fun - I mean, would you ignore a book with that title? Benabou, or possibly an anonymous narrator (it depends on whether you take it as fiction or not) explains at great length why he keeps failing to write a novel. It could have been a wry satire on the world of writers and writing, perhaps even laugh-out-loud. The people quoted on the back cover seem to have thought that it was. Somehow it just never came to life for me - there wasn't any sparkle, just page after page of florid prose and those peculiarly French extra-long multi-claused sentences.
This is a shame, as Benabou's a member of the Oulipo, and so in my mind his work came with the, if you will, implicit recommendation of Perec and Queneau. Perhaps I should hold onto it and try again at some point - it's only one or two days' reading anyway. First impression, however, is not good. After this I was ready to limp back to the rest of the O'Farrell.
The Dragon's Nine Sons, Chris Roberson
A bit of light reading, adventure by the book. A misfit group of soldiers under arrest are given the chance to escape execution by going on a top secret suicide mission, and oh, you know the rest. The key difference here is that the story takes place in a parallel future where the space race was between the Empires of China and the Aztecs. (The title sounds like it might be a colourful Chinese description of the solar system, but turns out in fact to refer to the story's Dirty Three-Quarters-Of-A-Dozen.)
It's an interesting set-up, but owing to the nature of the story it isn't developed in very great detail - the Mexica (as the Aztec Empire is called here) is only seen from outside, but we do see a lot more of it than of the Chinese Empire. Most of the book is preoccupied with revealing the soldiers' various stories of shame and having them bump heads with each other before developing a grudging respect, etc, on board the cramped spacecraft in which they plan to infiltrate a Mexica asteroid base. An excess of background world-building here would only detract from the much smaller-scale character story at the heart of the book.
By no means mould-breaking, but enjoyable. Familiar, in a pleasant sort of way.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
