The continuing (but finally ended) drama of moving house allowed me to take some time off from writing this month but still with a lot of time to read. May began with William Sutcliffe’s WHATEVER MAKES YOU HAPPY. I’m a fan of Sutcliffe’s highly readable novels, particularly BAD INFLUENCE, which was published a few years back and never seemed to receive the praise it deserved. (It’s an extraordinary, short book – read it if you get a chance). This new novel is much more like his earlier books, a fairly light but enjoyable tale of three 30something men whose mothers move in with them for a week. There are moments of great humour in the novel although from time to time I felt that the characters drifted towards stereotype. There’s a particular brand of English male writer, too old to be young, too young to be middle-aged, who somehow adaprt their thoughtful and incisive writing to flimsy subject matter, rock bands for example. But still, Sutcliffe’s a fine writer; I’d just like to see some more of the edge he brought to BAD INFLUENCE.
I mentioned earlier in this journal that I had been hugely impressed by Tim Winton’s BREATH and that opinion stands. A wonderful story of a young surfer growing up in Australia in the 1970s who becomes involved with another young surfer and an older mentor, the story balances beautifully crafted sections about the joys and poetry of surfing with a growing tension between the three characters. This is an extraordinary novel. At Hay, I mentioned to Winton that I thought it was a rather scary book and he seemed surprised by this response but agreed that it was. (It is scary; there’s a malevolence lying beneath the surface of some of the characters that threatens violence and uncertainty.) Last year, when I was in Australia, I was recommended CLOUDSTREET (while having dinner in the home of a Neighbours actress – a great night, a story for another time!) That novel saw me through a week in New Zealand and I’ve never forgotten it. Winton is a brilliant writer, simple as that. I’m ready to go back to his older novels and start reading them.
I dipped in and out of Tobias Wolff’s new stories in OUR STORY BEGINS this month, which are typically thoughtful and beautifully written. The war in Iraq is a subject at the heart of many of them and Wolff always writes well about the emotional trauma of war – IN PHAROAH’S ARMY is a perfect example of this.
I read another novel by a young Irish writer this month, but only in manuscript form as it won’t be published until next year. I’ll say no more about that one for now, except to say that there is an extraordinary book on the horizon. Watch this space…
Jodi Picoult’s NINETEEN MINUTES was my next book. I like Picoult. Her books are always difficult to put down, unlike so many writers whose books are often difficult to pick up, and usually have some complicated moral conundrum at their heart. They’re compulsive and despite their length, I always find I read a Picoult in a few days. I wonder does she receive the respect from critics which she deserves? Perhaps not. This book, about the consequences of severe bullying in the classroom and the subsequent murder of ten students by the victim of the bullying, is a terrific read.
Browsing through the new paperbacks in Waterstone’s Piccadilly I picked up Mohsin Hamad’s THE RELUCTANT FUNDAMENTALIST and, impressed by the blurb, I bought it. I’m glad I did. The novel is narrated by a young Pakistani man who engages the attentions of an American over dinner in Lahore. He tells the story of his adult life, his time in America, the effect of the 9/11 attacks on his life. And then the book turns in a chilling direction. Hamad is a very interesting writer, excellent at creating tension and a sense of polite injustice. The novel makes many strong political points in an unexpected fashion way while still being a rivetting read. I’m not surprised it was shortlisted for the Booker last year.
A piece of non-fiction also drew my attention this month. Richard Beard’s BECOMING DRUSILLA, a memoir of a camping trip between Richard and a long-term friend, Drew, who had recently undergone a sex-change operation, becoming Dru(silla) instead. It’s a thoughtful book, one in which the author challenges his own prejudices and disquiets as much as anything, and both biographer and subject have interesting tales to tell. It’s also a wonderful piece of travel writing as the two friends make a journey around Wales. Richard and I were classmates together at the University of East Anglia many years ago and I always take an interest in his books. He’s written some witty, slightly off-beat novels and a couple of books of (sport) non-fiction. More people should read him.
I’ve long been a fan of David Lodge’s fiction and DEAF SENTENCE was a wry, thoughtful novel about an ageing professor, Desmond Bates, who (like Lodge himself) has suffered increasing deafness in old age and must confront the demands of an elderly father, arrogant wife and possibly psychopathic postgraduate student while not being able to hear any of them very well. The premise sounds like a typically funny Lodge campus novel but it’s darker than you might expect and all the better for that. With the exception of a slightly unresolved plot strand (the student) it’s an inventive piece of work with some wonderful set-pieces (the sauna scene in particular).
And finally I read Jhumpa Lahiri’s new collection of stories UNACCUSTOMED EARTH. I’ve read both Lahiri’s previous books and admired them and, after hearing her talk at Hay, bought and read this collection. Writing almost exclusively about Bengali characters who relocate to America and return from time to time to the country of their birth, this is a collection of stories which proves that Lahiri is one of the finest international writers at work today. Each one is complex, populated by flawed and damaged characters; their stories are compulsive, their voices beautifully rendered. The final three connected stories, HEMA AND KAUSHIK are the triumphs here, ending in a manner which is as unexpected as it is devastating.
My book of the month for May: it’s a close thing between two masterpieces, Winton’s BREATH and Lahiri’s UNACCUSTOMED EARTH.
