Ian McEwan: Would you dare tread along On Chesil Beach?

What used to bug me, in my years of studying English Literature, is how do we deem a story a literary text? This is coming from someone who has slaved over Ulysses, felt a kinship to Birkin in Lawrence’s Women In Love, who holds an admittedly unusual affiliation with Dick Diver in Fitzgerald’s Tender is the Night, and keeps Woolf and Maeve Brennan by his bedside to dip into when he cannot sleep. Though, I cannot dispute the overall effect these novelists have had on me, still, the reasoning behind what makes a literary novel has always evaded me. Until I read On Chesil Beach…

As you can see from my previous reviews, I am a sucker for a good story, be it popular fiction or a gripping crime-thriller, and I don’t believe in literary snobbery (there’s a reason people get published, whether you connect to their writing or not) but McEwan has shown me the process of telling a good story, through moulding metaphors and shaping motifs to build an ultimate artwork that allows your story to transcend above the confinements of narrative.

Now, you may be thinking – ‘well, that is a lot to learn from such a short novella’ and you would be right. Of course, I must give credit to my tutor, Giles Foden, author of The Last King of Scotland, to have opened my eyes to this as it was he who explained how McEwan implements these tools and thanks to Giles, I can now see them coming through in my own work, as well as using them for structural analysis of any novels I’ve picked up since that may bear the why-so-scary term ‘literary’.

The novel, set in the Summer of 1962, revolves around the afternoon of Edward and Florence’s wedding day. In use of flashback and omniscient narrator we slowly learn that these two are from two different worlds, and both come to their wedding night with very different, very private, expectations and fears of what lies ahead of them. And little do they know, that the decisions they make on this night will haunt them for the rest of their lives.

First of all, we have all seen how masterful Ian McEwan is with prose in his novel Atonement, but I love the time and commitment he inserts into the smallest of moments in this novella. I was captivated by the telling of two strangers eager to escape childhood and the simplicity of human nature to completely misread a situation. Where one shows shyness to hide their fear, the other picks up as a flirtation and is in no doubt of their love. It shows the frailty of human relationships even when we feel they are at their strongest. How we think we know someone so completely, that we can be ignorant to their inner distaste and betrayal.  How, even on their wedding night, one’s rigid disgust can be misread to be utter passion.

To understand what I mean by the weaving of metaphor I mentioned in the beginning of this post, please read the story again and make note of how many times you come across the words hand, white/purity, waves/sea, breeze and starched. See how the images change using the same words, the sly foreshadowing McEwan employs to the subconscious mind. Read in awe the temporal advancement of these figuratives and watch as his strands of metaphor culminate to condition our response to what appear to be a mere three to six lines but hold a great weight in relation to our leading woman.

 

Though addressing gender roles and etiquette in the 1960’s, McEwan doesn’t seem to be pointing to any societal flaw, per se, or indeed a gender misrepresentation, but manages to press on certain matters that interrupt the mental ebb and flow of our human psyche. He merges both Edward and Florence together to forget their gender and really see how intricate our call and response as humans is.

Florence, an accomplished musician, shows her strength for the first time, in the rehearsal room, away from Edward ‘she was no lamb to be uncomplainingly knifed.’ Here she fights the barricade of her convention, yet lets it silence her when she is alone with Edward. Where ‘above all she did not want to hurt his feelings’ and he mistakes ‘her turmoil for eagerness.’ Oh, it seems almost cruel to marvel at these moments of uncomfortable misinterpretations as they attempt to understand each other’s sensitivities. I could go on forever as I do in previous posts, but this is a novella I would hate to spoil for anyone who hasn’t read it.

It only seems appropriate to end on an example of Ian McEwan’s power to use imagery that transcends mere words, the sentence that left me reeling…

‘This is how the entire course of a life can be changed – by doing nothing.’

Please like, share or comment below if you have any thoughts of your own on this sensational book and I would like to thank everyone who has done so in the past.

It is overwhelming to see people taking the time to read these posts, never mind even commenting. I have thoroughly enjoyed getting to know you guys through the comment section and those off you who have emailed. I love nothing more than to chat about books!

I can see our very own interwebbian book club slowly coming to fruition 🙂

Happy reading!

Anakana Schofield’s Martin John will have you rooted to your Chair.

I wrote a story focused on Select Mutism and how the condition, if not eradicated, would impact an adult life. The story deals with themes of homelessness and mental instability, and my tutor Donal Ryan, upon reading it, recommended the following book…

‘This is writing at its most fearless: visceral and searing, yet textured and nuanced; the darkest of comedy and the deepest of insight.’ – Donal Ryan, author of The Thing About December, The Spinning Heart and All We Shall Know.

Thank you, Donal, for your own incredible insight, because this book felt like an extension of my mind from cover to cover. This may sound dubious once you learn what the subject matter of Martin John is as you read on, but I promise you, however deterring the main character may be on the surface, this book is one of substance, skill and an astonishingly accomplished understanding of those who live on the periphery of our society.

Schofield’s format is important to note. The first ten pages are of only one line, slowly trickling into longer and sporadic paragraphs along the page. This jolt and start system sets the tone for the structure of the book. Like stepping onto the tube where Martin John and the reader are forbidden to go by his mother.

WHAT WE KNOW…Do we though? 

1. Martin John has made mistakes.

2. Check my card.

3. Rain will fall.

4. Harm was done

5. It put me in the Chair.

This refrain twists around in repetition, like an ivy vine weaving through the narrative, and evokes the cyclical and unaccountable mind of Martin John himself. What first confuses, slowly reveals itself to be darkly comic and heartbreaking. The ambiguous voice of the narrator questions the mental state of Martin John, his OCD and his sexual perversion, and in doing so allows the reader to delve into a mind that dishes up plates of shock and humour in equal measure.

The form of the novel would appear to disorientate the reader upon first glance, but Schofield’s seamless skill with sound and language captures the reader and ultimately leaves one empathetic with a sexual pervert. It allows us to question not only his own motives but those of the surrounding characters too.

Bye Bye Sanctimony. 

Martin John may be mentally unwell, but is his mother too? Or Aunty Noanie? Or anyone, really, that may have a differing opinion to the norm, such as Mary in the end. We are all bound by constructs we willingly and unwillingly accept and until we are pushed to the extreme we do not know for sure how any one of us would react. Schofield interrogates the notion of sanctimony, in this west of Ireland voice we witness scenes of molestation, hysteria, dark comedy and insanity that we would otherwise never see in our day to day life. Thus, we sympathise with the characters that surround Martin John and their attempts to deal with his sickness but we are also in a position to judge how this people perceive themselves. They truly believe they are the sane ones and Martin John is the problem.

Is what I know what they know?

 (Don’t worry, this is intentionally unclear)

Mam spends a short time trying to piece together whether she has any responsibility and we would like to think we would do the same in her position but as the trajectory progresses we notice she is guilty of her own inhumane acts, however she commits hers in the name of helping others, which begs the question, is she in the right?

Martin John commits acts of uncontrollable behaviour, is he in the right?

Aunty Noanie turns a blind eye and believes one visit with her a week will sort him out, is she in the right?

Mary in the train station seems to embody a concentrated version of these sanctimonious traits. Insistent of working under the name of God, she believes she is the only one to help, and yet when under pressure and faced with crisis this sanctimony dissolves to reveal pure self preservation. When pushed to the boundaries of what we deem acceptable we throw all previous notions of self righteousness out the window and resort back to our inherently human need to do what we think is right; to protect ourselves.

These boundaries of acceptability are different in every person, so be it molestation, forceful restraint, mental manipulation or self harm, we never know how our own character may behave until these boundaries are stretched near breaking point.

It is never defined, nor does it need to be (Again, this becomes clear after reading). Schofield’s nuanced throws of ambiguous form leaves us wondering not only what role do her characters play, but do we have a role to play in her world? A world that can eerily be found outside our own front door.

I am thrilled with this recommendation, and I hope you will be too. I have to agree with The New York Times and our very own Eimear McBride who states that Anakana Schofield employs some serious literary gumption. She is definitely one of my top favourite authors for pushing the boundaries of narrative and deserves a place on any literary-head’s bookshelf for showing us the power of a novel filled with linguistic twists!

She is an unapologetic powerhouse, and I cannot wait to read her debut, Malarky, and anything that follows.

As usual, let me know if you shared the same fascination with this book and comment below with any more suggestions!

You can also find me on Twitter @DarrenODea1 and Insta @darren_o_dea to keep updated on my experience of the Irish Literary Sphere.

Happy reading!

 

The Contrived and Generic. Mitch Albom’s first (and hopefully last) disappointment; The Time Keeper

The Time Keeper by Mitch Albom

Mitch Albom will always be an author I hold close to my heart. The best selling memoir Tuesdays With Morrie was the first novel, as a child, that struck me to the core and allowed me to see how a work of fiction has the power to make us reevaluate our own lives and apply such themes to our own experiences. I can remember it being the one of those books I was eager to recommend and has stayed with me well and truly into my adult life. I think we can all agree; it’s a sign of a great novelist if their work continues to impress after the final paragraph. Needless to say, as it’s been over a decade since I was first introduced to Albom, I was excited to find his third most recent novel The Time Keeper amongst the trove of books in my parent’s house. Seriously impressed by the reviews from other writers, I was expecting inner truths to hit me over the head with every twist and turn in Albom’s distinct and simple style. Yet, I must say, I was disappointed. Cecilia Ahern says that ‘Mitch Albom sees the magical in the ordinary” well I’m sorry Cecilia, this time Mitch only managed to create an incredibly simple story and I am yet to see the magic.

Was The Time Keeper as heartrending and relatable as Tuesdays With Morrie or The Five People You Meet in Heaven?

I can’t say it was. As the name suggests, The Time Keeper, is about the six thousand years of purgatory Father Time has to endure for becoming the first man to ever begin measuring time. Using such a subject matter of time, which we all, pretty much have the same concept of, could only have been a meal ticket for Albom to use as a platform to address real issues and give him the freedom to inject his inner truths he usually does so well. However, this story, though incredibly simple in both language and style, to me seems more contrived than anything else. I instantly revolt against any story that is not gripping enough or thought provoking enough that I vision the author’s writing process instead of focusing on the story.

Can the paralysing fear Father Time endures inspire readers to reconsider our own notions of time? No. Unfortunately not.

This is a tale of Father Time and his task set to him by a mysterious bearded fellow to change the lives of a young teenage girl seeking to prematurely end the amount of time given to her and a successful business man seeking to extend his life through extraordinary measures. Like any fable since the dawn of time, I do understand that it is best to use simple stories to address a higher meaning or evoke particular emotions but to me these altogether too common characters fell short. Sarah Lemon is a less than ordinary teenage girl struggling with her crush on one of the most popular guys in school. Sound familiar? Of course it does, that is one of the most common narratives in every high school English essay assignment. Victor Delamonte is the embodiment of ‘rags to riches’ ‘American Dream’ success story. An extremely wealthy business man from a poor and difficult upbringing who went on to build an empire and has more money than he can count. Also sound familiar? Yup. I’m sorry to say Albom lost me more and more as I followed the lives of his characters. On a good day I have a hard time with clichés so, naturally, I was heavily disappointed to read one after another in this book. And it is so unfortunate too! The tale of Father Time himself is fresh and heartbreaking and it is such a shame it was perpetually interrupted by the moans and groans of teenage angst or corporate greed.

Once I begin a book I must finish it, because I will always give the author the benefit of the doubt and respect/judge their work as a whole. Sadly, I feel cheated. The narratives of both characters went exactly as I predicted from, genuinely, their introductory paragraphs. When I say Father Time’s story is heartbreaking, it is because in comparison to the other two it was the only storyline that kept this horribly over worked novel in motion. The images and motifs of time throughout Father Time’s life are, without question, beautiful. And there are elements of what I love about Mitch Albom stamped throughout. His power to conjure a magical moments in the mind with only a few sentences never ceases to amaze. However this can only truly be said for one third of this novel. That’s not fair is it? I don’t want to have to plough through predictable over used stories for only a paragraph or too of the good one.

As I mentioned earlier, I do not appreciate a book that distracts from the text and makes me think more of the writer and what he was thinking as he wrote it. I don’t know if it was author, publisher or editor that decided on the format of this piece but it did exactly that. Distracted. The superfluous use of bold sentences was sickening. I hate when the text and not the words are screaming for attention. With every turn of the page I felt myself silently wishing for it to stop. I don’t want to read a book that has so many sentences in bold, practically telling me ‘THIS IS IMPORTANT’. This technique is derivative; if you are trying to make a deep and meaningful point by using bold font than you’ve already pulled the reader out of the story because they are now thinking “Oooh why is this in bold” thus losing the meaning you’re trying to elicit. I would rather derive my own meaning from the language itself and if it is well written you shouldn’t have to categorise the ‘meaningful’ pieces from the rest. In that case, you are demeaning the rest of the text that is not in bold.

This novel has me now begging the question; am I a fan of Mitch Albom or is my naive teenage self the fan? I have tried to research who Albom’s demographic is but all I can find is that it is vast and huge. Perhaps, it is too general for me or something. Perhaps, in his effort to create a timeless piece about time he has really just produced generic storylines with the intent of furthering his commercial success.

However, as much as this novel disappoints, I does not and will not affect my opinion of Tuesdays With Morrie or The Five People You Meet in Heaven. It is because of them and NOT The Time Keeper that I will continue to read Albom’s body of work. They will forever be ingrained in my mind for the observations and universal truths that not only altered my perception as a boy but I have taken into adulthood too.

For that, thank you Mitch Albom. Although, It’s a pity this one didn’t meet any of my high expectations.

Have you read The Time Keeper? What did YOU think? Do you agree with my ramblings?

Please let me know through email, or in the comments below, your thoughts on any of Albom’s work or what you think of my ramblings above.

Thank you, as always, for giving me your time. See what I’ve done there? 

Happy reading!

Millenium || The Girl Who Played with Fire

 Learning why the Girl Played with Fire

As usual, I left a fad pass me by. For one reason or another, I refrained from reading the Millennium series back in 2010 and I never rode that wave with the rest of the world. Quick on the uptake, I am now currently expanding my literary pop culture and I have succumbed to Stieg Larsson. Larsson, you sensational writer and taken much too soon, I have a bone to pick with you. The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo took me not 2 weeks to finish, not even a year to finish but almost a YEAR AND A HALF. In that space of time, I did move country and have three jobs but A YEAR. Come on, Stieg. In absolution, however, I finished it, moved home to Ireland and began the second in the Millenium Series. It took me two days. Two. Days.

What a family.

I am not sure if I speak for all avid readers but the first instalment in the series, yes, used many of the common crime thriller ‘who-done-it’ techniques. Like burdening the reader with insane jargon of a mysterious family that occupy an entire island. (Crikey, that was a mouthful) Reminiscent of an Agatha Christie novel he relayed meticulous descriptions of each and every member which may or may not feature in the novel and left me exhausted yet made me realise I don’t even know my OWN family in such depth. It was at that point I put the book down and started on the rest of my bucket list, however, I wish I hadn’t. I had just put it down on (unbeknownst to me) the most crucial part when Salander joins Blomkvist on his quest for the truth. I must admit, upon returning to it 9 months later, I began to understand why these novels achieve such acclaim. The way Larsson tells a story is like dozing in the morning sun in summery Spain and then suddenly waking to 40 degree heat and all hell breaks loose because you’ve turned into a hot burning mess.

Choo choo!

What I enjoyed about The Girl Who Played with Fire, is that Larsson did not spend time repeating much of the first novel to an unknown reader but rather tied the important facts of each character seamlessly and from the get-go the novel took off on a completely new topic, as gripping and as filled with twists and turns as the search for Harriet Vanger in Millennium |. Rolling like a long-distance 1940’s steam train. This thriller moved steadily along, rushing at moments, but all we have to do is put all trust in Larsson, the driver, to take us to a satisfactory destination.

Phenomenal.

Literally. As Boyd Tonkin  said Lisbeth Salander “is the most original heroine to emerge in crime fiction for many years…” Independent. And he is utterly correct. To be expected Larsson weaves you into a web of characters once again and there were times I got a little lost within all the Swedish names. But, my god he captured me from start to finish. I could finally understand why these books had become a page turner for the masses.

Our Salander The Misfit

Lisbeth is a harrowing heroine that is the driving force behind this series (hence the title) A ruthless young woman with a hidden agenda of her own aspires readers to take the law into their own hands as she does so well. From a stylistic point of view Larsson has created a dominant character that is removed from one third of the book.  He left both the readers and his characters guessing for over 130 pages as to what could possibly be happening with Salander as the last we heard of her she was standing in a soon to be crime scene which amounted in two murders. This is a testament to the strength of his writing and his conjuring of such a powerhouse, yet vulnerable character of Salander. Like Blomkvist, we want to believe Salander is innocent but is murder completely out of character? I found myself returning to the last moment we see Salander, sitting having coffee with Johansson and Svensson to see if there is any clue whatsoever as to why she would be now charged with murder. And that begs the question of Zala. An apparent sub plot from the beginning that shocks us all by the end – the real reason the Girl Played with FIRE. But I am not interested in spoilers, I am more interested in what you think!

Life hacks to take from Lisbeth Salander

• All rapists should be punished immediately – preferably with a makeshift tattoo gun. I recommend the poetry of “I AM A SADISTIC PIG, A PERVERT AND A RAPIST”. Let’s face it, these beautiful words are sufficient on any part of a violent sex offender’s body but the stomach is ideal as a blank canvas to write as big as you like. Remember, that should the offender repeat themselves then please do not refrain from repeating the poem along their foreheads.
• Although never used, it is wise to always carry a hammer.
• If at all possible, develop a photographic memory – this can come in handy in almost all walks of life.
• When on holidays, like most do, study mathematical theorems that have baffled scientists for decades. (I’m not too sure why, but if this is something you enjoy then, by golly, it can’t be a bad thing!)
• Befriend a fiery dominatrix woman for sex (because why not) and never ask her inappropriate questions, but do, take from her any cigarette case she may give as a gift. This is not only just a classy way to smoke but it has the power to remove you from all sticky suffocating situations.

 

As a whirlwind of originality, albeit time consuming, as The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo was, The Girl Who Played with Fire obliterated any feelings of contempt towards it. Needless to say, I was enthralled by the second Millennium instalment and I hope you were too. I cannot wait to sink my teeth into the third, and now possibly the FOURTH. However, I don’t know how pushed I am about someone continuing a series after the author’s death (I must look into that – any thoughts?). Please take this post as a tribute to Stieg Larsson, who has become one of the most sensational crime thriller writers of our time, unaffected by fame and money, he has given us raw talent, let his legacy live on for decades to come.

To any of you who is basking in the afterglow of one of Larssons great thrillers, half a decade after the rest of the world like me, Please leave a comment or send me a message with your thoughts, I would LOVE to hear what you think about it! 

I am always on the look out for new books so please, Online Literary World – any suggestions? It took me five years to pick up this trilogy and for the life of me I don’t know why so it’s safe to say I REALLY need your help!

Next up is The Little Coffee Shop of Kabul  by Deborah Rodriguez, stay tuned!