Hux Book Blog 2024 (Spoilers)

[Madeleine]

No I think Hux has made the point well, the extracts although short don't sound very promising.

[lunababymoonchild]

14 minutes ago, Madeleine said:

No I think Hux has made the point well, the extracts although short don't sound very promising.

Fair enough

[Hux]

4 hours ago, lunababymoonchild said:

I’d just like to point out that just because Hux doesn’t like it doesn’t mean that you won’t. Nor does it mean that it’s a bad book, it simply means that Hux doesn’t like it

 

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That all being said, however, there are some who will probably love this book

 

[Hux]

4 hours ago, lunababymoonchild said:

I’d just like to point out that just because Hux doesn’t like it doesn’t mean that you won’t. Nor does it mean that it’s a bad book, it simply means that Hux doesn’t like it

 

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That all being said, however, there are some who will probably love this book

 

[lunababymoonchild]

4 hours ago, lunababymoonchild said:

Fair enough

 

[Hux]

The Liar (1950) Martin. A Hansen 

 

Well Nathan, we did it. We read this wonderful book about a man living on a small island, trapped by the winter ice, telling his tale to you, Nathan, a fictional creation of his own mind, about the people, the places, the loves, the deaths, and the lost opportunities. Did I enjoy it Nathan? Yes, I thought it was absolutely magnificent. And I really liked the dog Pigro.

Johannes is a school teacher (and deacon) who relates the events of the small community of islanders, specifically Olaf and Annemari who, having recently been his pupils, became an item and had a child. Then there was an accident (a death) that affected Olaf and consequently his relationship with Annemari came to end. Johannes is also in love with Annemari but keep this to himself. It's very subtle but it's there. He can only confess so much to Nathan. And to us. Then there is the young boy Kaj who needs to go to a sanitorium on the mainland for treatment. The family of the deceased young man. Elna, the pregnant barmaid. Olaf's mother who cannot forgive Annemari. Frederick and Rigmor (both unfaithful). Johannes ponders all these people and their stories, the history of the island, the passing of time, the fact that they will all one day be forgotten, that even the words used to describe these things will one day die/change.

Having just read a book that annoyed me, it's always nice to immediately come across one that lifts you back up. So the story is narrated by Johannes Lye (in the original Danish his name is Johannes Vig but since that is similar to svig (meaning 'deceit' or 'guilt') the translator chose to use Lye (lie). And that's important because Johannes is indeed a very unreliable narrator (the title confirms as much). The whole thing is his interpretation of events and it's hard to know just how truthful he is being (personally I got the strong sense that he wasn't being entirely honest about his feelings regarding Annemari and Rigmor) but again, that's the point. We can't really trust Johannes account, we can only listen to it. And he tells it rather beautifully.

The writing is a little different. Short sentences. Often unnecessarily so. Given that they are continuous thoughts. Or pieces of dialogue. And there is a definite stream-of-consciousness element to the prose (a style I have a love hate relationship with). Often it's just a lot of inane gibberish and verbal diarrhoea hiding poor quality writing. But then you get the stuff like this, where it's more like a stream-of-feeling than thought, more fluid and sincere, with a concession for the importance of language and grammar (as opposed to style over substance). Anyway, Hansen is very good at creating an atmosphere of emotion and feeling, his use of Nathan (his fictional sounding board) playing into this. And he knows how to change pace when necessary, slowing down or taking a trip down memory lane. And best of all, he knows when to lie.

It is a wonderful book. Sad, thoughtful, and human.
 

Twenty years of age. That's a magnificent time of life for many. It is our age of deep profundity. For the twenty-year-old demands utter purity. Oh yes of course he tumbles about in this or that and feels himself besmirched. But his life demand is for purity and truth. The mature man is just left bewildered by the twenty-year-old's passionate certainties. The mature man speaks of his life experience, that fool. But this experience simply shows he has forgotten that he is ignorant of life's most important things. The sum of his so-called maturity is a trail of small deceits and minor untruths, in fact a stream of lies, in all opinions and deeds. And yet he is of good conscience because he has become blind to the fact he's a liar.

 

9/10

[Hux]

The Sailor Who Fell From Grace With The Sea (1963) Yukio Mishima

 

Sometimes I wonder if, to be a truly great writer, you have to be slightly dead inside. I wonder this because so many writers avoid giving characters (or first person narrators) any kind of personality or opinions or humour or character. They're always just blanks vessels who remain cold and detached, robotic voices offering only the essentials, the basics, the facts. And yet, despite often finding this annoying, I can't entirely blame them as it often produces some great stuff.

Anyway, Yukio Mishima is as cold as they get. It's all very blunt and matter-of-fact. Here is the setting, here are the characters, here are the consequences. And, for the most part, it's immensely good stuff. Especially when the characters in question possess a coldness that meets with their actions.

The book is about a lonely widow (Fusako) who lives with her with a 13-year-old son (Noboru). She meets a sailor on leave called Ryuji and begins a relationship with him. Noboru has a peephole in his bedroom allowing him to watch them have sex. He has a group of friends who question (as young people always do) the purpose of adult life. They want life to be heroic, have greater meaning beyond the mediocrity of normal life. They want to be above that. As such they kill a cat by bludgeoning it to death and pulling out its innards for examination. This is proof of their higher function, their ability to place themselves outside of the banal morality and expectations of the grown-ups. As the book goes along, Noboru becomes disappointed with Ryuji and no longer sees him as a hero but rather as just another conformist. And I think you can guess where this leads.

I enjoyed it, the writing was very good and Mishima has a beautiful turn of phrase. But it's hard to escape the darkness of the man, that coldness I mentioned earlier. He was clearly not an entirely happy individual and committing seppuka obviously reiterates this but it's more than that. Like I said, there is a coldness to his writing. But that applies to so many. But his particular brand of coldness comes with a thud... a dull, heavy thud.

 

8/10

 

 

Edited May 19 by Hux

[Hux]

Blood Dark (1935) Louis Guilloux

 

The story of an academic philosopher who, ageing and unstimulated by his current status (both in work and life), spends his days in existential crisis contemplating thoughts of purpose and loss, waste and optimism, set against the backdrop of the last year of the First World war. Francoise Merlin (Cripure to everyone else, a nickname based on Kant's CRItique of PURE reason) is a man coming to terms with his end, in more ways than one, and his faltering crusade against his fellow man. He lives with his maid Maia (also his mistress) and his many yapping dogs. He pointlessly endeavours to educate young men about philosophy (in a mildly buffoonish manner) and loathes his academic nemesis Nabucet. He dabbles in nihilistic thought (especially since his wife left him) but clings to the innocent hope that there might be something behind it all.

This is a magnificent book. The writing is wonderful and the characters (Cripure especially) are larger than life and the perfect axis around which to pivot such lofty considerations. It goes without saying that Guilloux has plenty to say about the futile waste of life consumed by the war as well as the cynicism of the time (while Celine comes to the distinct conclusion in Journey to the End of the Night that it's all for nothing, Guilloux has a remnant of hope still left within him). But they both agree that the war was an unnecessary trauma.

The book reminded me a lot of Auto De Fe (printed the same year in 1935) and obviously Celine's Journey (1932) both in terms of subject matter and writing style. The prose here is superb, lyrical and mature, intelligent and rich, and wonderfully crafted. It is obviously a philosophical book but one which is subtle and focuses on the plot (the events of just one day) as well as the characters to explore those philosophical themes. By the final third, however, I did feel that it was dragging a little and could have been much shorter. There are characters, for example, such as Kaminsky and his friends who felt a little redundant, even somewhat out of sync with the overall story. But Guilloux wants to give a complete picture, a fully realised world, and he does this by emphasising the notion of showing, not telling, though I'm not sure it was entirely necessary. A lot of those threads never really go anywhere interesting (beyond fleshing out the small community and demonstrating the general feeling of people regarding the war and its immediate cultural consequences).

The real star is Cripure and I craved returning to the chapters that involved him. At times, he is oafish and exaggerated (almost to Ignatius J Reilly levels of buffoonery) while at other times he is sombre and romantic, disturbed by his deformed feet, his broken heart, his drinking, and his desire for beauty to exist in a world that appears to have none.

A great piece but probably longer than it needed to be. Highly recommended.

 

8/10

Edited May 27 by Hux

[Hux]

Out (1997) Natsuo Kirino

 

Once or twice a year, I read some contemporary garbage to keep me up-to-date with what's happening out there (contemporary to me meaning from the 80s onwards) and, in almost all circumstances, these modern books continue to demonstrate that writing ain't what it used to be.

But at the very least, these kinds of contemporary books can still be entertaining even if they're poorly written and very dumb. And boy, is this book dumb as hell! It's the most moronic crap I think I've ever read and I absolutely... LOVED IT. So yeah, let's just get the mediocre, by-the-numbers writing out of the way and acknowledge that this book is of NO LITERARY VALUE WHATSOEVER. The prose is basic, the plot ludicrous, the characters wafer thin, and the themes as subtle as a dishwasher. Now that we've covered that let's enjoy the nonsense...

There are four women who work the nightshift at a warehouse making pre-packaged meals. Masako (married, teenaged son, bored, early forties), Yoshie (single mother to teenage girls, looking after bedbound mother-in-law, early fifties), Kuniko (fat, lazy early thirties), and Yayoi (pretty, married to drunk gambler, two small kids, early thirties). After being beaten by her husband Yayoi snaps and strangles her husband to death. She phones Masako (essentially the protagonist) to help her deal with the situation who, in turn, phones Yoshie, and they agree to take the body away and... cut it up into pieces in Masako's bathroom. As they're doing this, Kuniko pops round and catches them at it so she also gets roped into their shenanigans.

What follows is a book where the women have to deal with the body parts, throw off the police, and cope with each others resentments and money problems. Oh, and the man who last saw the murdered husband alive (Satake, owner of an illegal gambling club) becomes the chief suspect for the police (plus various other subplots regarding a Brazilian worker infatuated with Masako, a loan shark, a sex worker, and a new business opportunity for the ladies). As the book goes along it gets darker and more absurd until it basically has nowhere left to go. It's all very silly but immensely fun. I really enjoyed reading this. I just sat there thinking: 'this is such utter rubbish but I can't stop turning the pages.'

So to recap. Worthless and forgettable as literature but hilarious and gripping as entertainment. Make of that what you will.

 

8/10

[Hux]

Autumn Rounds (1993) Jacques Poulin

 

Possibly one of the most charming and delicate little novels you'll ever come across. The book is written in a style that's so fresh and cool that it feels like a breeze on the skin. It's always straightforward and clear but equally romantic and thoughtful. Pages melt away in your hands, chapters fall away like leaves, and the quiet, romantic story meanders on with such a sweet lightness of touch that you feel like you're in a half-remembered dream. It's just so... well, it's lovely.

The book is about a character known only as 'the driver.' He is a middle aged man who travels around Canada's most beautiful and isolated regions in his bookmobile so that people in remote villages can always have access to books. One morning, he encounters a troupe of singers, acrobats and performers and it turns out they're also going to tour the same places as the driver. The woman who essentially runs the troupe is called Marie and is also middle-aged and grey haired. These two characters develop a bond which, over the course of the novel, is strengthened with each new encounter as they meet up in one village after another. The romance between them is deep, not a sexual craving but a sincere and authentic connection built on shared interests and temperament. They ease their way into each others lives, gently, slowly.

It's such a beautifully written piece, full of optimism and hope, caring and respect. These people are not young but they've found something in each other, a meaningful love. The book exudes maturity and calm, a sense of coming to terms with what truly matters in life, all done with such brisk and honest prose, full of warmth and clarity. It's also a love letter to literature. The driver (being a lender of books) discusses and mentions several writers and novels all the way through the piece and you'll want to take note of them (it's a great list). The book is extremely charming and
explores, in such a simple and pleasant story, the fragile yet beautiful nature of things, of humanity, love, life, ageing, nature, you name it.
 

"She returned every one of his caresses and in small steps, taking very good care of one another, they slipped onto the slope of pleasure with the sweetest of sensual delights and under the protection of all the love stories that surrounded them."

8/10

[France]

What a terrific review!  Autumn Rounds is now on my wish list.

[Hux]

Count Luna (1955) Alexander Lernet-Holenia

 

One of the more disturbing books I've read in recent years. Beautiful but harrowing, entertaining but hideous. In terms of atmosphere, it reminded me of The Tenant, The Green Face, and even a little of Dream Story. Suffice it to say, the book is a nightmare come to life.

Alexander Jessiersky (a name very similar to The Tenant's Trelkovsky) is an Austrian businessman who, during the events of the Nazi regime, has a company that wants to take over the estate of a man named Count Luna. Since Luna rejects this offer, Jessiersky's directors (using their influence) have Luna arrested and sent to a concentration camp in order to get their way. Though not involved in this decision, Jessiersky inevitably comes to feel responsible for what has happened to Count Luna. He regularly visits his family to ensure that they understand it was not his doing, he sends food parcels to the concentration camp, he feels guilty.

When the war ends, nothing is known of Count Luna's fate but his family have concluded that he must have died. Jessiersky finds this hard to believe (even convincing himself that the family are lying to him). His guilt now deforms itself into paranoia, and it spirals ever deeper into his psychological status, overwhelming him entirely. Soon, after an event where a man gave some sweets to his daughter in the park and she falls ill, he becomes convinced that Count Luna is seeking revenge, that he intends to do harm to his family. He hears footsteps in the house and believes they are Count Luna's; he goes to his country estate where he once again feels certain that Count Luna is following him. He abandons his wife, his children, commits terrible acts, loses all perspective, and eventually intends to fake his own death to throw Count Luna (a man he has never actually met) off the scent for good. It's here, at the end of this awful tether, when the very moon itself has become his enemy, that we get a bleak and somewhat terrifying conclusion.

The book is genuinely quite unsettling, this man's obsession, his guilt and paranoia, an all consuming and entirely destructive nightmare. Of course Lernet-Holenia is talking about the guilt of Austria, of everyone who sat back and watched the events of the war and the holocaust unfold. It's extremely effective. I don't think I've read a book that was quite as disturbing as this.

It's also written in a style that I love, where Lernet-Holenia tells the story rather than shows it (show don't tell is for cinema, kids, not literature), narrating the whole thing in a way that allows it to be expressed in beautiful and fluid prose, a sweeping tale of metaphor and simile, of meandering thought and lyrical observation. This means he occasionally includes more than he has to (the details of Jessiersky's ancestors for example) even though that does come back again at the end. And what an ending. Heartbreaking. Sad. Terrifying. Horrific.

 

8/10