Hux Book Blog 2024 (Spoilers)

[lunababymoonchild]

1 hour ago, Hux said:

 

So not that much effort was required to understand it after all.

I don’t think so

 

1 hour ago, Hux said:

 

Somebody on Goodreads suggested Concrete and The Loser were his worst books and I should start with Wittgenstein's Mistress. But I can't see what difference it would make if his style is the same. The style is the issue.

Wittgenstein’s Nephew. I saw that. And they are similar in style, naturally. I’m not in a position to ascertain which of Bernhard’s work is the best to read, as it’s totally subjective. As I’ve said before, I don’t know why anyone would read an author they don’t enjoy or finish a book they don’t enjoy. Obviously up to you. 

Edited November 4, 2024 by lunababymoonchild

[Hux]

Wise Blood (1952) Flannery O'Connor

 

The story of a traumatised soldier called Hazel Motes who arrives in a small town (Taulkinham) and becomes obsessed with a blind preacher and his 15-year-old daughter. More specifically he is obsessed with the false religiosity of the community and he endeavours to preach his own anti-religion by creating what he calls the church without Christ. Meanwhile there's a weird zoo worker called Enoch Emery who is fixated on a mummified dwarf (which he steals) as a symbol of something meaningful to Motes and who gloms on to him as someone in possession of Wise Blood (an apparent instinct for innate spiritual guidance and knowledge). 

There are some interesting things going on in this book but ultimately, I really did not enjoy reading much of it. If this is a good example of Southern Gothic then I guess we can add that to the list of genres I dislike. There's something profoundly alien about these people and this world, something which reveals the real America as a rather separated and obscure culture. There's only so much 'Gee, shucks, y'all' Americana I can take before I find it tiresome or just downright repugnant. It brought to mind A Confederacy of Dunces (another book I disliked) in the way that every character seemed to be a bloated exaggeration of what to expect from reality. Sure enough characters all have names that could only ever exist in American Literature such as Hazel Motes, Sabbath Hawkes, Hoover Shoats... yeehaw!! If anything it only served to remind me of how distant American culture really is from my own. I once read somewhere that Europeans make the mistake of thinking that America is a European country in North America when in truth, it's a South American Country but with money. Books like this feel eerily unfamiliar to me and I can barely grasp the intense religiosity that seems to overwhelm that country. It's becoming clear that the pilgrims didn't go to America to escape religious persecution, they went there to engage in it. 

And then there's O'Conner's writing. To me it came across as clunky and poorly expressed, as though (as it actually is) the book was her first. Where three sentences would be sufficient to push the plot along, she will opt for fifteen. It felt a little cluttered and jarring, lacked the flow I prefer, and seemed to be in desperate need of having a great deal of the fat removed. I certainly can't imagine how anyone could view this as lyrical in the slightest. This fact and the bizarre setting and subject matter combined for an unpleasant reading experience. There's some weird and interesting things going on in this book but none of it spoke to me or impressed. I found it a slog. 

That being said, it's got enough weirdness to justify being recommended.

 

5/10

[Hux]

Factotum (1975) Charles Bukowski

 

Bukowski is a one-trick pony. But as tricks go, it's pretty good. The bottom line is: if you've read one book by Bukowski, you've pretty much read them all. It's essentially the same story of a dirty old man, a 'person of dubious parentage' drunk misogynist, who hates work and likes booze and women with fat arses (even though he's supposed to be in his twenties). And that's one of the main problems with his books, they're all written from a later perspective, when he actually was a dirty old perv, and so they struggle to evoke any real sense of him being a younger man (with the possible exception of Ham on Rye where he manages to elevate the quality of the writing). So you're basically saturated in middle-aged cynicism, bloatedness, and whiskey from the word go. And it's actually very entertaining.

But like I said, you've read one, you've read them all. Had I read this one first, I might have liked it a lot more but because I read Post Office, Ham on Rye, and half of Women (before getting bored halfway through), this one really did start to feel like more of the same. It's always easy to read, occasionally funny, always disgusting, and soaked in endless body fluids and wasted living. Bukowski's alter ego, Henry Chinaski, goes from city to city, from dead-end job to dead-end job, from skanky 'lady of the night' to skanky 'lady of the night'. There are times when it's almost too absurd (such as the unrealistic boat sex with two women) and times when it's just a series of wasted experiences and relentless bleakness. The only part that has any romance or hope is his desire to be a writer, the section where he gets a short story accepted being a genuine moment of uplifting promise. Later to be followed by more drinking and downtrodden despair.

It's fun to read but ultimately nothing spectacular. My only major gripe is that he always says 'awakened' and never woke up. "I awakened this, I awakened that." Got on my nerves after a while but anyway... At the end of the day, all of Bukowski's books are essentially one long life story told in increments. This part was less interesting to me than the others. But as always, it's a life that feels lived, full of bland normal nothingness and disappointment, escapist binge-drinking, 'ladies of the night', and horse racing. It's hard not to like him. It's hard not to feel for sorry for him.
 

The phone rang. It rang several times before I could struggle out of bed and answer it.
"Mr Chinaski?"
"Yes."
"This is the Times Building."
"Yes?"
"We've reviewed your application and would like to employ you."
"Reporter?"
"No, maintenance man and janitor."

 

 

6/10

[Hux]

The Troop (2014) Nick Cutter

 

I read this hoping for a nice cosy horror story that would be of little literary significance but full of entertaining plot and characters. I had high expectations. Sadly, it was surprisingly dull and more uneventful than I would have anticipated.

The story is about a scout master (Tim) who takes five teenage boys (Kent, Ephraim, Max, Shelley, and Newton) to Falstaff Island just off the main coast. Already the premise is pretty dumb. Teenage boys alone with just one scoutmaster? Modern boys in their teens who care about scouting? Really? But hey, the book needs to happen so let's just go with it. So they're staying at a cabin on the island when out of nowhere a man arrives on a boat, a man who is patently very ill and apparently needs to keep consuming food. He eventually dies and a strange worm-like creature comes out of him. Then, one by one they all appear to be infected by these worms. And well... that's about it. Not much more happens (except one of the boys suddenly being a psychopath out of nowhere). That's about as scary as it gets. The authorities surround the island and don't let anyone come or go.

To make matters worse, the book is written with lots of pointless exposition which undermines all the tension. There are question and answer interviews with scientists and military personnel between several chapters where the worms and their existence are explained. Frankly, I would rather the book kept the cause of their existence vague but the book literally spells everything out -- who created them, why, where, the tests they did on animals, etc. Everything is given away. Then there are articles from newspapers and magazines reporting on what happened in the past tense. You could have removed all of these and you would have lost nothing.

The only part of the book that I found entertaining was the conversations between the boys, their juvenile humour and funny jibes. It had a mild Stand By Me quality which sadly wasn't present for very long. Otherwise, it was a little dull and plodding. Hardly anything happens. The worms are certainly creepy but it never gets gross or terrifying. It's all a bit... whatever. And the fact that one of the boys is revealed to be a raging lunatic in the final third was a tad moronic, suggesting that Cutter himself had lost faith in how scary his own story was. He clearly felt the need to beef things up by doing this.

Ultimately, a bit of a damp squib.

 

5/10

[PYX]

On 11/10/2024 at 10:25 AM, Hux said:

The Troop (2014) Nick Cutter

 

I read this hoping for a nice cosy horror story that would be of little literary significance but full of entertaining plot and characters. I had high expectations. Sadly, it was surprisingly dull and more uneventful than I would have anticipated.

The story is about a scout master (Tim) who takes five teenage boys (Kent, Ephraim, Max, Shelley, and Newton) to Falstaff Island just off the main coast. Already the premise is pretty dumb. Teenage boys alone with just one scoutmaster? Modern boys in their teens who care about scouting? Really? But hey, the book needs to happen so let's just go with it. So they're staying at a cabin on the island when out of nowhere a man arrives on a boat, a man who is patently very ill and apparently needs to keep consuming food. He eventually dies and a strange worm-like creature comes out of him. Then, one by one they all appear to be infected by these worms. And well... that's about it. Not much more happens (except one of the boys suddenly being a psychopath out of nowhere). That's about as scary as it gets. The authorities surround the island and don't let anyone come or go.

To make matters worse, the book is written with lots of pointless exposition which undermines all the tension. There are question and answer interviews with scientists and military personnel between several chapters where the worms and their existence are explained. Frankly, I would rather the book kept the cause of their existence vague but the book literally spells everything out -- who created them, why, where, the tests they did on animals, etc. Everything is given away. Then there are articles from newspapers and magazines reporting on what happened in the past tense. You could have removed all of these and you would have lost nothing.

The only part of the book that I found entertaining was the conversations between the boys, their juvenile humour and funny jibes. It had a mild Stand By Me quality which sadly wasn't present for very long. Otherwise, it was a little dull and plodding. Hardly anything happens. The worms are certainly creepy but it never gets gross or terrifying. It's all a bit... whatever. And the fact that one of the boys is revealed to be a raging lunatic in the final third was a tad moronic, suggesting that Cutter himself had lost faith in how scary his own story was. He clearly felt the need to beef things up by doing this.

Ultimately, a bit of a damp squib.

 

5/10

I've heard about this book! For a while, I wanted to read it. I'm glad I didn't!

[Hux]

The Bad Girl (2006) Mario Vargas Llosa

 

This was a joy to read. Llosa has a style that means the pages just melt away as you read them, fluid and effortless, yet producing prose of an immensely high standard. It's a kind of writing which doesn't even feel like it needs to be read, you just let it wash over you like warm evening surf. Extremely good. As you might expect from a Noel Prize winner.

The story is that of a Peruvian man named Ricardo who, in childhood, meets a girl called Lily and becomes enamoured with her. Later, as an adult, he moves to Paris and meets her again, now using a new name, and they briefly connect. What follows is decades of the same pattern. She comes into his life at times when she is experiencing hardship then, once recovered, she moves on, leaving him for a succession of other men. She marries a french diplomat. Then later moves to London (where they meet again) and is married to a British businessman with an interest in horse racing. She disappears from his life again only to show up in Japan as the mistress of a Yakuza. This last relationship traumatises her and leaves her with psychological and physical scars. But he takes her back and spends his life savings looking after her. Only to see her eventually leave him for another man once more. No matter how much he tries to move on he never can. The romance of his feelings were very compelling and convincingly conveyed.

There's a huge section of 'Of Human Bondage' where Philip keeps taking Mildred back even though she treats him horribly and this book is essentially that... but for the entire thing. Llosa's writing elevates it so it never becomes boring but there comes a point, for everyone, where you start wanting to scream at the book... 'stop taking that bitch back'!! Fortunately, for me, this only really occurred towards the very end so Llosa ultimately sold the story to me reasonably well. Despite the rinse and repeat format, the book is always engaging and entertaining, the high quality prose a major factor in that. It was only at the very end where my interest in these characters was beginning to wane slightly.

I'm not sure this one will live long in the memory, the plot was very basic and the elements and coincidences of the story were occasionally a little melodramatic, but like I said, the writing is so good that it raises the piece up to a level of immense quality. It was wonderful to read.

 

8/10

[Hux]

The Plains (1982) Gerald Murnane

 

There's nothing I like more than a nebulous story of vague philosophical investigations regarding the often pointless nature of the human condition. Actually, there's one thing I do like more -- a nebulous story of vague philosophical investigations regarding the often pointless nature of the human condition... that's fun to read. And this is where the book fell down quite badly for me. Otherwise, it's a mildly interesting piece.

The book is narrated by a young man who intends to make a film about the plains (vast, seemingly never ending space fascinating to artists and townsfolk alike). He eventually gets a patron, one of the many landowners, moving into his house and fixating on the apparent inability of art to capture a meaningful description of the plains. To accomplish this, Murnane writes a lot of VERY obscure, almost ethereal nonsense that goes nowhere, floating pixie dust upon an oily rainbow, writing for writing's sake, mesmerised by the debilitating unknown weight of existence itself, a slew of word salad, fluffy-bunny madness and obtuse, ragingly indistinct blurs, that demands to be something you invest in (if you're so inclined) until you can become fully intoxicated. In theory, this ought to have appealed to me but as I said, it just never became something I enjoyed reading. By the time we get to the landowners conversation I was fast losing interest. Then the library at the house dealing with time. That felt painfully on the nose for a book that had, up to that point, maintained a more subtle approach (in fact, I would have preferred it if he'd never mentioned Australia and allowed the plains to be even more obscure). But anyway.

There are sections where the writing is almost comical in its endeavour to sustain the established swirl of warm water that pours over you. You can barely catch the meaning of any sentence such is the style, the blurred meandering attempt to sound profound, even simply coherent, enough to encourage a sense of reward for your continued reading. Take this for example:
 

"Even in the inmost rooms of the library, on the third storey of the north-east wing, I sometimes heard, across courtyards shaded from the late afternoon sunlight or swept by the flight of bats at dusk, the first, and then, after an interval almost exactly predictable, the second of the immoderate roars that marked the dual climax of some revelation by a client whose final achievement had been to suggest, through the difficult medium of his particular craft, some detail of a plain paradoxically apart from, and yet defining further, the land revealed moments afterwards between the ponderously parting curtains."

Putting the use of ten words where three will do to one side, this kind of writing is hard to engage with when there's very little to invest in regarding characters or the development of a specific idea. It's all just... interpretation. The plains represent this, the filmmaker that, the landowner this, the Bustards that. Fine, but again... I repeat... when do I get to be entertained by any of this? It's a shame because I generally love vague (life is a pointless horizon of never-ending plains) stories, but this one never came close to reaching me. 

I liked the idea, I understood what he was trying to do. But I just didn't like it. There was even one moment where I wondered if Murnane was actually playing a game with his readers. It seemed far too telling to be a coincidence, too immensely on the nose. And I laughed out loud...
 

"I too have admired the tortuous arguments and detailed elaborations, the pointing-up of tenuous links and faint reverberations, and the final triumphant demonstrations that something of a motif has persisted through an immense body of digressive and even imprecise prose.

 

4/10

 

[Hux]

A Feast of Snakes (1976) Harry Crews

 

There were parts of this I loved, but equally there were parts I found a little dull. This is yet another book set somewhere in the south of America where people are inexplicably weird, pursuing interests that seem entirely alien to me, and engaging in a culture that feels thoroughly foreign. I'm not sure if it qualifies as southern gothic but it definitely has a lot of the required elements. In this case, we have rampant racism and plenty use of the N-word, not to mention black characters who say 'yessuh, Mr Joe' quite a lot and, to wrap the whole narrative around, a bizarre tradition of having a snake hunting roundup. It was all very grimy and strange and American.

The story focuses on Joe Lon Mackey, an ex football star now married to a woman he apparently despises and treats awfully. While she takes care of their two young children, he fantasises about his ex love, Berenice, who has returned from university with her new boyfriend. Meanwhile, the sheriff, is a one-legged, Vietnam veteran (because amazingly this is set in the 70s even though it feels like the 30s) and he rapes a black woman he's obsessed with called Lottie Mae. But don't worry, she later cuts his dick off whilst the narration continues with its snake theme, describing the offending appendage in such terms, even giving it fangs. It's all very Dukes of Hazzard.

Like I said, there were parts I really liked (part one especially) and parts that I found a little dry and uninteresting. But the story is certainly compelling, albeit full of disgusting people, dog cruelty, rape, mental illness, and casual racism. I just struggle to find these grotesque people relatable, the pervasive Americana somewhat hard to fathom. It's full of sleaze and oppressive misery, all tinged with an underlying hatred. The writing was mostly good, and the story and characters kept me engaged, but I was always left wondering... is this really what America is like? And then we get the ending which, maintaining the general manufacture of excrement, is entirely unpleasant yet strangely appropriate. While it never grabbed me completely, I would say this is definitely a book worth reading, especially if you like that southern gothic stuff. The content and atmosphere of the story can be best summed up with the following quote:
 

"Daddy would say to wish in one hand and sh*t in the other, see which one fills up first."

7/10

Edited November 21, 2024 by Hux

[Hux]

The Woman in The Dunes (1962) Kobe Abe

 

Nightmare fuel for those who think there's a way out. 

A schoolteacher named Niki Jumpei interested in insects goes to the dunes to seek out beetles. Having spent longer there than he intended he needs a place to stay. One of the older villagers recommends a house owned by a woman but it's beneath a vast pit of sand, surrounded on all sides. What follows is a claustrophobic horror story of a man being unable to escape this house, the sand impenetrable, the villagers (and the woman) seemingly unmoved, having trapped him there deliberately for reasons unknown. He tries to climb up the sand but cannot, he threatens the woman but she seems either ignorant of what is happening or resigned to their circumstances; he screams at the villagers who laugh at him from above. Mostly, he plans his escape because there must be an escape. Surely, there has to be a way to escape. 

Having read a few pages of Abe's Box Man a long time ago and found them painfully dull, I was a little worried about reading this. But the first half of the book absolutely had me gripped. I was turning pages rapidly, fascinated by the man's dilemma, trying to work out if he was indeed being held against his will, or if there was just some huge misunderstanding that had not yet been revealed. I'm tempted to describe the book as Kafkaesque but that probably isn't accurate since Kafka dealt with the oppressive weight of bureaucracy (even in Metamorphosis, his change into an insect is not as important as how he will explain it to his employers, support the family, etc). I also don't think it's an accident that the main character here is interested in insects. But this book is more allegorical in nature, the themes focusing on the relentless struggle of existence, the inability of ever escaping the daily drudge of work and sexual instinct, the constant search for a literal way out. The book is saturated in oppressive heat, constant sand, and lack of water. I could almost taste it at times, the gritty texture in my mouth, until I had to swallow some saliva and clear my throat. The book is just relentless. 

And that's where my main criticism comes in; after the halfway point, I was slightly losing interest. It just goes around in circles and overwhelms you with more sand, more woman, more sand. Even when he momentarily escapes, the book had somewhat drained me by that point. I just wanted the nightmare to end. I knew what was happening. I knew where it was going and, worst of all, I knew how it would be resolved. Because there is always something to keep us attached to life, always some pointless thing which we imbue with meaning so that we can justify persevering with a delusional sense of hope. Work and sex. They both make life seem like it's worthwhile (though Abe's descriptions of sex were intensely abstract and vague, perhaps very Japanese, and I did need to reread a few sections just to confirm... yep, they're having sex). 

So not without its flaws but a fantastic entry into the existential nightmare genre. This one was as dense as the claggy sand itself and after a while, I wanted out. I wanted out of this book as much as he wanted out of that sandpit.

 

8/10

[Hux]

Panenka (2021) Ronan Hession

 

The story of a 50-year-old ex footballer nicknamed Panenka (for good reason) who, early in the book, discovers that he has a brain tumour and keeps this information to himself. The story follows his relationships with his daughter, Marie-Therese, his grandson, Arthur, as well as the burgeoning relationship he develops with a hairdresser called Esther.

A game of two halves funnily enough. I was very much enjoying the first half of the book and found Panenka's stoicism in the face of impending death to be interesting. Plus, the local blokes he hung about with at the pub (BABA in particular) were fun to watch but they always felt like background characters of little consequence. I also loved his backstory, playing for the town's local football club Seneca when he was young and, in a game of vital importance, choosing to delicately chip a penalty down the middle only to see it saved (hence the nickname Panenka). This humiliation comes to define him and his life. I would have liked more of this period, the ups and downs of the battle to avoid relegation, the importance of football to a small community, and I enjoyed Hession's obvious love of the game. But once we know the backstory, the origin of his name, we get little more, and instead return to his current predicament. All very readable stuff to be honest.

Sadly, however, the second half of the book felt a little melodramatic, full of soap opera-like relationship struggles that didn't really interest me. I also never really felt that the characters were properly realised or turned into real people with lives beyond Panenka's own story; they felt very much like surface level creations. Esther, in particular, who never really came across to me as a real person but rather a plot device.

Ultimately, the book was mostly charming and easy to read, but I was losing interest towards the end. I would still recommend it but I don't think it was especially groundbreaking or entertaining. It was okay.

 

6/10

[Hux]

Rat (1995) Andrzej Zaniewski

 

A novel about being a rat. The book is entirely from the rat's perspective, he narrates, but as is often the case with animal narration, this narration always remains detached and aloof, no opinions given, no feelings, no expectations, only facts and events, only the harsh reality of a blunt existence. Consequently, this makes for a dry reading experience so you're relying on the plot. Sadly, that doesn't existence either because Zaniewski isn't telling a Disney story about a rat who goes on an adventure with a plucky squirrel called Dave, he's telling a real story of a real rat, which ultimately involves little more than eating, gnawing, fudgeing, fighting, surviving. This is the format of the whole book, just an endless repetition of these moments with only the occasional deviation (listening to the sound of a man playing an instrument and being, seemingly, moved by the music). But otherwise, it's rinse and repeat. Eating, fighting, fudgeing, existing.

I found it rather boring. The first half only became momentarily interesting when he fudgeed his own mother with psychotic detachment. He is a rat after all, it's what they do. As I said, Zaniewski knows that he can't anthropomorphise the rat otherwise it loses its only intriguing feature, namely that it is a bleak and realistic interpretation of an animal's existence. But as such, it isn't very fun to read because of that. My interest picked up a little when he went on the ship and arrived in some war torn country (followed by a few more trips here and there, including a tropical climate). But even this begins to return to the repetition of gnawing, and eating, and fudgeing, and surviving. The only book I can really compare it to is Black Beauty, where the protagonist also narrates (and with equal detachment) but at least Black Beauty meets different people, has different experiences with people who treat him well or poorly and speak to him (giving the reader some respite). But this is just relentless gnawing, fudgeing, fighting, etc. It's obviously a much bleaker view of the animal's life but it's also less enjoyable to read too. Maybe an adventure with a squirrel called Dave would have improved it.

The book is worth a look. It manages to be both awful and beautiful in its cynical outlook. But the bottom line remains... I was bored when reading it and found the whole thing to be very dry, dull, and stolid.

 

4/10

[Hux]

The Sisters Brothers (2011) Patrick deWitt

 

An immensely fun story about two cowboys (brothers Charlie and Eli Sisters) who traipse from Oregon City to San Francisco in 1851 on the hunt for a man named Warm. The first half of the book is exclusively concerned with their road journey and the various characters they meet along the way, Eli (the more sensitive brother) being the narrator of these adventures. It's also the most enjoyable part of the book, allowing for new and diverse environments and experiences; they stop at various small towns, for example, drink in the saloons, meet 'ladies of the night' and bandits, camp under the stars, and kill a variety of men (and boys). The second half of the book (once they arrive in San Francisco and find the man they're looking for), changes pace somewhat but remains very entertaining to read and deals with a potential invention that makes finding gold an easier task.

I think the best aspect of the book is the brothers themselves, their relationship and dynamic, Charlie being more blunt and decisive and Eli more thoughtful; but they are both highly intelligent and intuitively understand one another. There's very little in the way of description regarding the environment or the people they meet, the narrative restricted to the brothers, the Odyssey-like plot, and the conversations they have (lots of dialogue heavy chapters but entertainingly done).

I don't think you can describe the prose as anything spectacular, it's all very basic and formulaic, but well-written and easy to read. It's just not something I would describe as great literature. Ultimately, this book is about the plot, the environment, and the two brothers. And it's a lot of fun. One of those books you can sink into and enjoy at a profoundly basic level, a good yarn, an entertaining romp. It's a great world to disappear into on a wet Sunday afternoon.

Apparently, there is a film version of this so I'll give that a watch at some point, but I doubt it will conjure the same sense of warmth that the book did. This was highly enjoyable, escapist stuff.

 

8/10

[Hux]

The Red and the Black (1830) Stendhal

 

Liberalism offers hope for the future, but only by being the same lie which is told in a different way.

Like so many 19th century tomes, this book possesses those two qualities which define the era's literature. 1 - Exquisite prose. 2 - But way too long. The book is split into two but I would say that it actually has three distinct parts. The first third focuses on our hero, the intelligent, working class, 20-year-old Julian Sorel, and the affair he begins with a 30-year-old, aristocratic married woman with two kids. Sorel is hired by the husband, Monsieur Renal, to teach their children Latin and what follows is a long, very drawn-out romance which Stendhal painstakingly explores to the extent that it is hard not to get utterly invested in it. This has a downside later when the book changes direction entirely; but I would definitely argue that this first section is the most engaging in terms of plot and character. The strength of feeling between them is tangible, the sexual chemistry and psychological torment (due to their sinning ways) very deftly explored. I was almost as excited by their affair as they were. 

Once their relationship is discovered, however, (at least hinted at without concrete evidence), Sorel is encouraged to move away and, in this second section, intends to become a vicar and train at a seminary outside Paris. This part of the book was less interesting to me, aided by the fact that I had just spent all my time investing in their relationship only to see it suddenly taken away from me. Julian unsurprisingly excels in his studies (to the irritation of many others) and finds himself recommended to the Marquis De la Mole as a secretary. This is another chance to climb the ladder among the fraudulent nobles and powerful men which he both adores and despises. It's during this period where we get the most blatant expressions of hatred for the hypocrisy of the wealthy and, more so, the liberals who, as a tradition of the age, say one thing whilst meaning another. Julian is himself encouraged to play this game and mocked for not intuitively grasping the obvious etiquette of feigning his opinions and behaviour. He begins a romantic relationship with the Marquis' daughter, Mathilde, but this relationship never feels entirely genuine, lacking in the passion of his relationship with Mademoiselle Renal (on both sides), to the extent that Julian is advised by a Russian friend to show disinterest in her as a form of enticement (which works), further reiterating that performance is more important in this society that sincerity. This romance is given equal weight by Stendhal (it takes up many pages) but it never shares the same intensity (which Julian confesses to himself) and which only exposes its false nature. These people are playing roles which Julian is also learning to play but always with an obvious resentment in his heart.

At the end of the book, Mademoiselle Renal (under duress) writes a letter warning the Marquis that Julian is a cad intent on climbing the social ladder which results in Julian trying to shoot her. The books ends with him in prison awaiting the guillotine knowing that he only truly loved her and had become the very thing he most despised. He can see that these people and their rules of conduct for society are disgusting and yet equally, he willingly participated. 

The book is sublime, a great look at the stifling hypocrisy of the age, the notion of progress endlessly stagnated by the realities of the necessary trade-offs, by the realpolitik which hinders social change. Sorel wants to rise through the ranks and become a powerful man, something which is removed from him outside of a military career (or perhaps going to the seminary) or, if we're being honest, banging the wives and daughters of powerful aristocrats. And so that's what he does. And as much as he hates it, the power of the aristocracy, the hypocrisy of liberalism, the endless performance, he ultimately succumbs and plays the game as well as any of them. Because what choice did he have? 

The book is way ahead of its time in regards to psychological internal monologues, not to mention the lack of speech tags (which people still seem to be impressed by today), and you can see why it has been so influential on many other writers (ignoring Dostoevski and the psychological aspects, I couldn't help but think of a young man called Holden who suddenly realises that adults are all phonies). Sorel is a fascinating character, weighed down by his social class, destined to sink in the quicksand of societal expectation and tradition. Even when change comes, or is promised, it is instantly compromised and diluted. Ultimately, my interpretation of the book was that Stendhal was predominantly criticising the hypocrisy of liberalism, it's capacity for self-congratulatory smugness in the face of no real change, its proclivity for corruption as each participant is seduced by wealth and power, and fundamentally its Utopian sway on the minds of the young who cannot see, despite the ceaseless repetition of failure, the hypocrisy that awaits them. Fools all.

"We are marching towards chaos." 

 

8/10

 

 

Edited December 7, 2024 by Hux

[Hux]

Roadside Picnic (1972) Arkady & Boris Strugatsky

 

Aliens visited earth many years ago but then left (seemingly never having made contact with humans). The areas they left behind across the globe are referred to as zones and are replete with artefacts and technology which the world governments endeavour to keep people from accessing (there seems to be some unspecified risk to their health). Certain individuals, known as Stalkers, are known to raid these sites in order to make a profit from these curious materials. The novel focuses on one such Stalker called Redrick Schuhart.

 

I did not like this. The story is fairly interesting but I just found the writing to be so drab and uninspired. It always felt like I was reading something written by a science fiction committee, which makes sense given that it was written by two brothers. There is no voice to the piece, no artistry, just a lot of dry, prosaic language which I found unbearable to read. Sometimes i get the impression that sci-fi writers are so engrossed by the high concept, the science fiction plotting, that they forget to occasionally include a beautiful sentence or two. My guilty pleasure is post-apocalyptic stories but anything with a greater degree of traditional sci-fi often leaves me a little cold. I found the whole thing to be bereft of creative prose and, as a result, I just couldn't bring myself to care about the content. The only part of the book where i was momentarily engaged was the part where the book acquires its title. Valentine Pillman and Richard Noonan are discussing the aliens are Pillman suggests that it's like a group of humans having a roadside picnic and when they leave and the animals and insects return, these creatures are confronted by food, litter, bottles, spark plugs, broken bulbs, oil from the car, all manner of things which they, the animals, have no means of properly grasping. This conversation aside, however, the book simply never grabbed me once.  

 

Again, I found the writing just so bland. It was like Hemingway attempting science fiction but worse; additionally, the two Russian writers do a strange kind of impression of American vernacular where the characters all have Anglicized (yet very distinctly American) names and speech which felt entirely false. As unique and intriguing as the story is, I was never remotely entertained and ultimately place all the blame for this on the prose. I really did find it very average and uninteresting. Not for me. 

 

4/10

[Hux]

Skylark (1924) Dezsö Kosztolányi

 

An odd duck of a book about the parents of an ugly duckling woman. Actually, duckling is misleading given that their daughter (Skylark) is 35 years of age. It's also a misleading title since the book is about them, not her. It opens with Skylark going away for the week to spend time with relatives. This week away allows the parents to spend more time outside of the house, go to restaurants, visit the theatre, all manner of activities which, due, in no small part, to Skylark's sensitive nature and unwillingness to venture beyond her daily comforts, they rarely do. It's presented as though Skylark is the one who is holding them back but as the book goes along, the father (drunk for the first time in years) announces to his wife that their daughter is... ugly. She cannot find a husband and is still at home at 35 and they are both weighed down by this truth and must face it. The mother is somewhat shocked at this outburst and the book balances between this being the cause of their frustrations or simply being their excuse for them.

Written in 1924 but set in 1899, the book tells us that the parents are old despite only being in their 50s. But back then I guess that was old. Skylark is overweight, unattractive, and seemingly without any talents or gifts. The trend for children to remain infantilised and unable to fly the nest is a story we hear often about men (incels and the like) but not so much women, especially from this time period. It's hard not to assume the book is about the parents allowing their daughter's life to define them and, in turn, giving them the excuse they need to justify their own shortcomings. But I'm not entirely sure. That Skylark is the title of the book yet as a character she is only present in the first and last chapter (their week without her revealing the depths of the parents' misery and even shame regarding her) would suggest she is the least of their worries. Or maybe it's a simple satire on parenthood and the inevitability of disappointment. No-one wants to be ugly. But then... no-one wants to be the parents of the ugly, either.

An interesting book to be sure, and nicely written, but ultimately I was never entirely engaged by it. It plods along and you do occasionally smirk but overall, it probably won't live too long in the memory. Truth be told, a genuine story about Skylark, a narrative about (or from) her perspective, probably would have been more to my liking. Poor cow.

 

6/10

[Hux]

The Librarianist (2023) Patrick deWitt 

 

There's a joke in Rick and Morty where a man who has written a screenplay asks Morty to listen to it. The man starts telling the story which opens with an exciting scene then he says 'three weeks earlier.' Morty rolls his eyes and says: 'we should start our stories where they begin, not start them where they get interesting.'

Anyhooo... this novel begins with Bob Comet, a man in his 70s who finds a confused woman in the local store and returns her to the retirement centre where she lives. He begins working there as a volunteer and, as he begins to build relationships, we discover that he was married in his youth to a woman named Connie but she left him for his best friend Ethan. This essentially (for some unknown reason) resulted in him never having another relationship (or sex) ever again. Don't ask me why -- seems a bit excessive. Then the book jumps back in time to that very period when he was in his 20s and he met both Connie and Ethan. Which brings us back to the problem of this book's formatting. I already know that his wife left him for his best friend because he ALREADY told me that in part one. All he's doing in part two is fleshing the story out a little, adding details which, in truth, aren't as significant as the primary fact that his wife left him for his best friend. So the whole section feels utterly redundant. Also in this section, he tells a throwaway story about how he ran away from home when he was 11 years old. This isn't remotely important until...

Section three. Bob is now 11 and runs away from home, you see. We're going back in time again, you see. Anyway, he gets on the train and meets two actresses who take him under their wing. It's utterly banal and worthless. I did not care. Then we return to the present and you'll never guess what. That old woman he found in the store, remember her, that was his wife Connie (how could he possibly not recognise her?). Sigh.

I mean... just no.

I would give the book a much lower rating but for the fact that dewitt is very easy to read. So he has that going for him. This book is what's known as a character study which (through experience) I have discovered in just another way of saying... a book that's not very good. The truth is dewitt's writing is generally fun but it's simply not literary enough for this, not difficult nor complex, not suitable for this kind of attempted character study. He doesn't have the talent for it and should stick to plot driven stories with heavy dialogue (in my opinion). The book was immensely forgettable.

 

5/10

[Hux]

Through The Night (2011) Stig Saeterbakken

 

Narrated by a man named Karl who informs us, bluntly, and immediately, of the death of his son, Ole-Jakob, dropping us into a sudden fever of excitement and horror at such a terrible occurrence. Then the next chapter jumps back in time to when they were all a family and everything was fine.

Once again, I am going to have to quote Rick and Morty. "We should start our stories where they begin, not start them where they get interesting."

What follows is an unbearably dull (and painfully middle-class) story of Karl, a dentist, and how he meets his equally banal middle-class wife, Eva, and the children they have, and the affair Karl has with a woman called Mona; and then there's a great deal of navel-gazing and hand-wringing, and middle-class hijinks. I was actually enjoying the writing but found the content to be so unutterably tedious and indulgent. It felt, to me, that Saeterbakken was doing an awful impression of Kundera and mimicking the mundane qualities of The Unbearable Lightness of Being. But the problem is, this book (and the protagonist, Karl) simply aren't interesting enough. Tomas lives in a Communist country and is, without apology, an unpleasant and selfish man. But Karl lives in a comfortable western country and is endlessly presented (mostly by himself) as a good egg who only has noble intentions at heart. None of it remotely convinces or results in a worthwhile story. The death of his son feels like a plot (or rather a character study) convenience with nothing but cynicism and cliche at its source. I really did find it dull and derivative. Only the appearance of his sister, who writes boring middle-class novels, provided a modicum of entertainment.

Then comes the final third. And suddenly the book transforms into something weird and fascinating, a mad dream of surreal panic and fear. It's utterly mesmerising and comes out of nowhere. Earlier in the book there is a throwaway comment (a story) about a house in Slovakia where people seeking answers go and are confronted by their darkness fears and their truest selves. The book ends with Karl actually going there and being tormented by the ongoing grief of his loss in a strange and unnerving manner. The book changes gear entirely, begins to swirl in waves of madness, and you're left isolated in a horror story of utter bleakness and despair. Where did this come from? Finally the book got good. But alas... far too late for me.

Before any of that, however, we have to endure the most banal middle-class nonsense imaginable. As a book exploring grief it was full of cliches and mediocrity. As a book exploring the ennui and emptiness of a man's western life, it was too slow and meandering. Only at the end, when it became a bizarre ghost story, an existential nightmare (mildly reminiscent of Hesse's Steppenwolf), did it get interesting. But I was already checked out by then.

Definitely worth a look though. 

 

6/10

[Hux]

The Moustache (1986) Emmanuel Carrere

 

There's nothing worse than a book that starts so well -- to the extent that you're convinced you're reading a new favourite -- but then descends into stale mediocrity. This book completely had me for the first two thirds and I was loving every second of it.

It starts with a man in the bathroom pondering if she should shave his moustache off or not. He decides to do it and when his wife, Agnes, returns from shopping he waits to see her reaction. But there is no reaction, something which he concludes must be her playing a trick on him, pretending not to notice. They have dinner with two friends, Serge and Veronique, both of whom also fail to notice he has removed his moustache leading him to believe that they, in collusion with Agnes, have agreed to play along with this charade. But on the way home, in the car, he gets tired of the game and confronts Agnes only to discover that she insists he never had a moustache. Slowly but surely, he begins to grow paranoid and even contemplates that his wife is losing her mind, or playing a very intricate game, or worse, deliberately encouraging him to question his sanity, perhaps even have him locked up.

Then the game accelerates at a pace, and, when discussing their trip to Java, his wife sighs and informs him that they have never been to Java. This spiralling sensation of unnerving madness then increases further when she also confirms that the two friends they had dinner with (Serge and Veronique) do not exist. And that his father, who he believes is alive, died many years ago. All of this results in him running away and believing that she is trying to poison his mind with lies. But why? What is the purpose?

These first two thirds of the book are spectacular and I loved them. They brought to mind the Tenant and other eerie books about the fragile nature of reality. Just fantastic to read, gripping, odd, creepy, and fascinating. It had so much potential and was on course for becoming a book I utterly adored, exploring all those inner fears we have about the world turning against us at any moment, that we're puppets being toyed with by a reality that is capricious. So... good!! But then the book just goes off the deep end. He runs off to Hong Kong and the book simply meanders here, drowsily, repetitively, for the whole final third, with inane descriptions of him going back and forth on the ferry, walking around, changing hotels -- it's all very bland and unengaging; and it slows the book down almost to a halt. It was just so dull compared to everything that came before it. Such a letdown.

The ending was equally disappointing. It offers no meaningful interpretation of events (whether it be hallucination, a deception, or something else). It isn't even very ambiguous. Essentially we're expected to believe that this was just a man having a psychotic breakdown, one without cause or solution. But this isn't how people have breakdowns in reality, only in literature. I wanted something more concrete or (preferably) something more vague and unsure. It doesn't really accomplish either and fails to truly reach the heights one hoped for at the beginning. All that Hong Kong nonsense was for nothing, and simply slowed everything down quite badly. Such a shame. The book had such a great start. I was so close to loving it.

 

7/10

[Hux]

So long, See You Tomorrow (1979) William Maxwell

 

Occasionally, I will read a book and simply not enjoy it. But unlike other books I will come to the conclusion that it wasn't the book's fault, it was mine (I suspect this is a feeling other readers often experience). Generally I'm not a fan of blaming the reader - if a book doesn't resonate then it just doesn't resonate - but there are times when you just feel like it was more about you. I dunno. It was Christmas and I wasn't really focused and despite liking the opening pages and the prose, my mind wasn't taking much of it in (the deeper I got, the less engaged I became).

The story opens with a murder and what follows is an explanation for that murder and its motivations. The narrator details how his friend Cletus and he drifted apart after Cletus' father apparently murdered a man named Lloyd Wilson. The book explores their childhood and the circumstances and it's wonderfully written but... I just got very bored in truth. Each time I went back to it, I was hoping this time... this time it will grab me. But it never did.

I would describe this book as a very slow burn. Maxwell methodically investigates events to such a drawn out extent that it begins to feel more like memoir than fiction. I got the very distinct impression that this was more Maxwell exercising some personal demons from his real life and dealing with his own trauma via the telling of a fictionalised account. As such the book is very dry despite the excellent writing and takes a very simplistic story and drags it out into something that loses its shape. It felt very private, personal. But at no point was I remotely interested in any of it. I didn't care.

This is a book that might justify giving it another try in the future. I don't know.

 

6/10

[Hux]

Portnoy's Complaint (1969) Philip Roth

 

If someone asked me to describe my idea of hell, it would be listening to a New York Jew whining about his sex life. 

And so here we are, a book where, in a full length monologue, the main character, Alex Portnoy, sits on a psychiatrist's couch and tells him (and us) his life story, most of which revolves around sex and masturbation. Had I known that this was a comic novel, I would have skipped it since, not once, in my entire life, have I ever read a book that ever made me laugh; at best, you might get a smirk out of me or, if you're lucky, a very post-modern expression of air while the words: 'that was clever' rattle around my noggin. But that's it. That's as good as it gets. In my experience, comic novels are painfully unfunny and generally a mess of self-indulgent (often juvenile) crap. Much like A Confederacy of Dunces, you either find the character hilarious or you don't; and if you don't, you inevitably find him unbearable. 

The early chapters about childhood are mildly diverting, his obsession with masturbation and sticking it in everything he can find (including an apple core and slab of liver) are just disgusting enough to be entertaining. There was even a burgeoning smile as his mother complained about her friends and affirmed that she was naming no names only to follow this by literally naming several names. But that was as amusing as it ever got for me and thus, I was left with a rather indulgent and somewhat tiresome Jew shoving his neuroses down my throat whilst finding himself immensely entertaining and funny. I found him dull and repetitive, and the whole thing felt like a combination of bad stand-up, cliched psycho-analysis, and Woody Allen-esque buffoonery where ever sentence essentially ended with 'oy vey.' The stories he tells about his parents, his love life, his experiences all left me thoroughly cold and unmoved. I just didn't care. And so, again, you either find this guy immensely funny (and acquire some quality and entertainment in that) or you're left immensely irritated. 

I just don't like comic novels. They always fail to make me laugh and, inevitably when they fail, they only end up coming across as profoundly self-serving. And that's all this book really has -- that gimmick. The prose is basic, the plot non-existent. You're basically hanging everything on Portnoy as a character and his routine being enormously hilarious to you. As such, I would definitely recommend this book to people who do enjoy comic novels; because of that genre, I suspect this is actually pretty good.  I personally just don't like them. They rarely resonate with me. A few moments of interest at the beginning aside (when it had more of a bildungsroman feel), this one simply never appealed to me.

 

4/10