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Reading Catch-up
Maurice by EM Forster
There was so much to dislike about this book. Its irritating misogyny. Its wish-fulfilment. Its patronising portrayal of the thick, loveable working-class.
What really irritates me about British fiction is that the working class is so rarely portrayed as anything beyond caricature: it’s either mindless squalor and stupidity, or the patronising myth of a poor-but-happeh social underclass. Few authors ever seem to get it right (I maintain that Orwell did, missing pier and all) and instances like this, where rough-n-ready Alec comes crashing into Maurice’s life with his bullish, honest-ter-god authenticity, deeply irritate me. I understand the point Forster was making about hypocritical society, but that he had to reinforce stereotypes for another social group disappoints me.
However, it would be churlish to deny that this book isn’t at least worthy and notable as a milestone in gay fiction, if only because it represents a struggle that was so close to Forster’s heart. It’s just a pity that Forster’s considerable talents weren’t so much in evidence in the narrative; maybe it was too close to his heart.
The Fahrenheit Twins by Michel Faber
The short stories in this book are really, really strange. Really strange. The title story is a twisted Nordic myth about a pair of twins and their role in the world. Some of the stories are excellent, some a bit *meh*, but they were all pretty inventive. I…can’t really explain it, but I enjoyed the stories, anyway.
The War of Don Emmanuel’s Nether Parts by Louis des Bernieres
This story is set in a fictional South American country and serves as a parody of various historical incidents: guerrilla fighting, the collapse of Argentina’s economy, the drug cartels of Colombia. What I love about Louis des Bernieres is how, even with a dark story, he manages to weave so much humour and feeling into his characters. The story of Parlanchina and her ocelot was a beautiful bit of magic realism.
Unfortunately, des Bernieres also sucks at endings. Captain Corelli’s Mandolin was let down by its ending and the incredibly bizarre ending to this story rather jolted me out of what had been a wonderful read. Still, it was, overall, worth it.
The English Civil War by Diane Purkiss
This is my attempt to reconnect with my country’s history. I may have chosen the wrong book.
I am being driven to distraction by the incredible overuse of the term ‘the godly’ in this book. What does that even mean? Does the author not know any other adjectives? The term is used at least twice a page. I have always taken it to mean pious, but Purkiss uses it as a blanket term for Protestants, something I am finding rather offensive when compared with Catholics. Maybe it’s a stylistic term, to echo 17th century usage. But hello, Purkiss! You’re writing for a modern audience.
And there’s the rub: this book reads like an amateur love-fest for history. Like a bad Anne Rice novel, there are endless pages focusing on cherubs and the wallpaper and not the thoughts and feelings of people in the narrative. It seems like Purkiss just throws in every single scrap of primary evidence she can find, even completely irrelevant recipes and diary entries about a cat falling off a roof or a baby’s first steps.
The book reminds me of one of those starry-eyed tourists wandering around Versailles; it’s all very nice and pretty, but What Happened There may be slightly more interesting. The Amazon review states: Fixated on trees rather than the forest, Purkiss offers no clear overview of events or much coherent interpretation of the conflict. I couldn’t agree more.
I am also puzzled at how the author just assumes why someone acted in such a way and presents it as fact: Charles was briefly bullied as a child, so he therefore raised taxes on shipbuilding because sailors traumatised him. Or something. Antonia Fraser and Simon Sebag-Montefiore manage a really good balance between personal anecdotes and the wider scope of history. Purkiss doesn’t.
Darkly Dreaming Dexter by Jeff Lindsay
So much darker than the television series and as devoid of empathy as Dexter purports to be. This was a light, fast read. The ending was so twisted, but it made me laugh out loud. I like the programme more than the novel, but it was still a fun read.
There was so much to dislike about this book. Its irritating misogyny. Its wish-fulfilment. Its patronising portrayal of the thick, loveable working-class.
What really irritates me about British fiction is that the working class is so rarely portrayed as anything beyond caricature: it’s either mindless squalor and stupidity, or the patronising myth of a poor-but-happeh social underclass. Few authors ever seem to get it right (I maintain that Orwell did, missing pier and all) and instances like this, where rough-n-ready Alec comes crashing into Maurice’s life with his bullish, honest-ter-god authenticity, deeply irritate me. I understand the point Forster was making about hypocritical society, but that he had to reinforce stereotypes for another social group disappoints me.
However, it would be churlish to deny that this book isn’t at least worthy and notable as a milestone in gay fiction, if only because it represents a struggle that was so close to Forster’s heart. It’s just a pity that Forster’s considerable talents weren’t so much in evidence in the narrative; maybe it was too close to his heart.
The Fahrenheit Twins by Michel Faber
The short stories in this book are really, really strange. Really strange. The title story is a twisted Nordic myth about a pair of twins and their role in the world. Some of the stories are excellent, some a bit *meh*, but they were all pretty inventive. I…can’t really explain it, but I enjoyed the stories, anyway.
The War of Don Emmanuel’s Nether Parts by Louis des Bernieres
This story is set in a fictional South American country and serves as a parody of various historical incidents: guerrilla fighting, the collapse of Argentina’s economy, the drug cartels of Colombia. What I love about Louis des Bernieres is how, even with a dark story, he manages to weave so much humour and feeling into his characters. The story of Parlanchina and her ocelot was a beautiful bit of magic realism.
Unfortunately, des Bernieres also sucks at endings. Captain Corelli’s Mandolin was let down by its ending and the incredibly bizarre ending to this story rather jolted me out of what had been a wonderful read. Still, it was, overall, worth it.
The English Civil War by Diane Purkiss
This is my attempt to reconnect with my country’s history. I may have chosen the wrong book.
I am being driven to distraction by the incredible overuse of the term ‘the godly’ in this book. What does that even mean? Does the author not know any other adjectives? The term is used at least twice a page. I have always taken it to mean pious, but Purkiss uses it as a blanket term for Protestants, something I am finding rather offensive when compared with Catholics. Maybe it’s a stylistic term, to echo 17th century usage. But hello, Purkiss! You’re writing for a modern audience.
And there’s the rub: this book reads like an amateur love-fest for history. Like a bad Anne Rice novel, there are endless pages focusing on cherubs and the wallpaper and not the thoughts and feelings of people in the narrative. It seems like Purkiss just throws in every single scrap of primary evidence she can find, even completely irrelevant recipes and diary entries about a cat falling off a roof or a baby’s first steps.
The book reminds me of one of those starry-eyed tourists wandering around Versailles; it’s all very nice and pretty, but What Happened There may be slightly more interesting. The Amazon review states: Fixated on trees rather than the forest, Purkiss offers no clear overview of events or much coherent interpretation of the conflict. I couldn’t agree more.
I am also puzzled at how the author just assumes why someone acted in such a way and presents it as fact: Charles was briefly bullied as a child, so he therefore raised taxes on shipbuilding because sailors traumatised him. Or something. Antonia Fraser and Simon Sebag-Montefiore manage a really good balance between personal anecdotes and the wider scope of history. Purkiss doesn’t.
Darkly Dreaming Dexter by Jeff Lindsay
So much darker than the television series and as devoid of empathy as Dexter purports to be. This was a light, fast read. The ending was so twisted, but it made me laugh out loud. I like the programme more than the novel, but it was still a fun read.
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Let's get married and become woodcutters together!
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Well, let me tell you, psycho...!
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JIMMY DON'T NOES
Re: JIMMY DON'T NOES
Re: JIMMY DON'T NOES
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Of course the people generally writing the books were upper-class and wouldn't know a day of manual labor if it spat on their...well, spats. I always got the impression that the idle upper-class took this grandeous, romanticized view of the working class. That "poor-but-happy" thing. Like that stupid scene in Titanic where Kate Winslet goes and dances with the 3rd Class passengers. Riiiight.
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I swear to God, it was the scene from Titanic that I had in mind when talking about the poor-but-happeh myth.
Squalor isn't sexy. It's not fun. I don't understand why so many writers, directors or what have you can't grasp that poor doesn't necessarily mean accepting or stupid.
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I still kind of want to see the film, though, bc Hugh Grant = ♥
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I didn't know Grant played Maurice. I'm going to have to search for this...
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Please God don't let him be Alec
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I don't really have gripes with Forster's writing style, more the misrepresentation of the working classes - and that he had to reinforce stereotypes of said class just to achieve the heteronormative ideal that
I understand that it wouldn't necessarily bother you, but I suppose if you had a patronising look at an American family or, you know, something close to your own demographics, that it would irk you and mean very little to me. Being from that background for generations makes me very aware of the inauthenticity of it. I wouldn't call it fine, for its flaws are too noticeable.
However! I won't give up on him. I'll avoid the crappy Forster book, thanks, but I'll give A Passage to India a go. Er, considering my grandfather was stationed in India, I hope I don't come back Working-Class Hero about that...
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Ah. Then it's probably similar to me reading Alice Hoffman. An English friend of mine (and many Americans) looooooves her writing but when I hurried off to read it, I was cringing throughout. Why? It's set in New England and the depiction of New England town life and people etc. drove me INSANE. The writer is indeed a New Englander, but ugh, there was something just so OFF about it. I mean, she could've been subscribing the town where I grew up, only using this POV and coloring that didn't seem right to me. It's probably appealing if you don't know the area.
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That shall be saved for a snarky post. Loving this new Shriver, btw.
NOES IT'S DICK VAN MURRAY!
Further to the whole why-can't-lit-people-write-the-working-classes thing...
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/comment/columnists/mick_hume/article4419279.ece