Never Let Me Go

Predictably, I'm entranced by yet another Kazuo Ishiguro novel.  Never Let Me Go caught and held my attention, surprised me (even in the way that it surprised me), and will have me reflecting on its themes for some time to come.

Kath, Ishiguro's main character, is another subtly unreliable narrator.  Her narrative style is deceptively simple - a bit of "dear diary" and lots of plain blunt language.  If you think her style is boring, I believe you are missing the marvellously rich subtext lying in the things Kath does not quite say.  The narrative push comes from her allusion to stories before a chapter break after which she tells the story. This style, combined with the touch of mystery, made this hard for me to put down.

It turns out that the mystery aspect, as well as the "science fiction" aspects of the story ended up being the least interesting things about this novel.  Instead, this is a story about the human condition, and the themes are distilled by filtering them through the lens of a dystopic alternate reality.  The most striking  idea for me was the idea of community - how we need to construct communities, how belonging to a community can distort a person's perception of fundamental aspects of life, and what it means to a person who is left out of community, or whose community has disappeared - and perhaps ultimately the tragic loneliness of the human condition.

At some point toward the end, I became frustrated that this was not actually a mystery novel, and that it did not tackle the 'political' aspects of the issues it raised.  But the characters' submission to their destinies moved the spotlight to the contemplation of what it means to have a full life -  can it be that art, love, friendship, belonging, duty, and sacrifice are enough? I'm still not sure.

Highly recommended.

A Long Long Way

It is fitting that my copy of Sebastian Barry's A Long Long Way contains quoted praise from J.M. Coetzee, whose novel Disgrace had me impressed and appalled: appreciative of the mastery and cringing from the subject in a way similar to my reaction to this novel.  A Long Long Way resonates with me - days after putting it down I can't get his images out of my head.  Unfortunately, those images are scenes of gruesome death in the trenches during World War I (not exactly my favorite).  But while I won't be wanting to revisit the topic for a while, I have to admit this was a masterful book, and I'm disappointed that it lost out to John Banville's snooze The Sea for the 2005 Booker. 

Barry begins with a sympathetic and complex character, Willie Dunne, who takes the reader on a journey through the emotional landscape of war: terror, pain, loss and horror, yes, but also camaraderie, nationalism, familial love, and hope.  But Barry's true gift is in describing the horrors of the war with gorgeous and almost poetic language.  I especially admire his descriptions of the first chlorine gas attack ("it was the force of something they did not know that drove them shoving and gasping away from that long, long monster with yellow skin"); the awful thick mud encountered in the trenches, and the shattering cold of a winter on the front lines.  These moments of description overcame my general aversion to war novels to the point where I can picture myself re-reading this book.

Willie Dunne also experiences the worst of the war: the piss and shit and blood and guts and tears and panic of the Irish soldiers in Belgium and at home.  My Irish history is a little rusty, so I needed to read up on the the uprising of 1916.  But a detailed knowledge was not necessary to understand the emotion and tragedy of their situation.  Barry successfully made me feel emotional about an unexpected subject, and painted a vivid portrait that took me somewhat reluctantly into the scenes.  It was deeply moving, and perhaps even scarring.

The Sea

I really thought I would enjoy this book.  I have a high tolerance for descriptive character driven novels where almost no action occurs.  I really enjoyed The Gathering - see! I like depressing Irish writing about death and memory.  And Banville has such a way with words!  I found myself looking up a new word on my iPhone dictionary app (which is free, and yes, you can judge me) on every other page - I can't remember the last time my vocabulary was challenged so much.  And Banville always always chooses exactly the right word, which results in a vivid description of a thing or a place.  This book is full of tiny moments of great loveliness, and arresting descriptions of very ordinary things.

Then why didn't I love it?  The beautiful words and images just washed over my leaving almost no impression at all.  I think the key issue for me was Banville totally failed to make me feel emotionally invested.  The main character is a boring man - he even admits it himself!

... the congeries of affects, inclinations, received ideas, class tics, that my birth and upbringing had bestowed on me in place of a personality.  In place of, yes.  I never had a personality, not in the way that others have, or think they have.  I was always a distinct no-one...

So, at least for me, beautiful prose alone ultimately falls flat.  I need some more personality.