Hux Book Blog 2025 (Spoilers)

[Hux]

The Other Side (1909) Alfred Kubin

In the late 1800s and early 1900s, a lot of books like this seem to have become fashionable, stories about an eerie place somewhere else in the world (or on another planet or dimension altogether) where a madman has attempted to create a new kind of Utopia. This one starts like that, but quickly changes direction, after a man (the protagonist) is visited and told that an old school friend (Patera) has created a place called the Dream Realm and has invited him to come and see it. The language used (at least in this translation) makes it seem as though this place -- the dream realm -- will turn out to be some kind of other worldly place, a magical dimension inaccessible to others, perhaps reached only by some sort of magical vortex or hypnotism. But no, it's actually a real place located in central Asia. And so off they go, the narrator and his wife, across Europe and Asia to find this strange place. I quite enjoyed this part of the book, like Phileas Fogg or something, with trains and steam ships, man and wife crossing the Caspian and meeting exotic natives etc. 

Once they arrive, however, heading for the capital Pearl, instead of finding some majestic land of curious mystery, what they actually encounter is a very banal environment with European style buildings, unpleasant people, and standard living arrangements. There's a population of around 65 thousand and, somewhat inexplicably, the narrator gets a job as a journalist essentially reporting on the Dream Realm and making life here permanent. This felt odd to me as I was given the impression they were just visiting but they basically make a new life here, in a place that is ostensibly strange but still a letdown. Meanwhile, the mysterious Patera is never to be seen, a symbol of uncertainty and myth, and you get the impression that the book will give us a big reveal at some point. But again, that doesn't really happen. As things go along, the Dream Realm begins to capitulate, turn into chaos, and the crumbling downfall is recorded by our narrator. 

I'm not entirely sure what Fubin was trying to say here. At first I thought it was just your standard mystery land narrative popular at the time; then I thought it was a direct satire on those very types of books. But it never really goes anywhere and you're left wondering what it was all for. Having done the bare minimum amount of research, it turns out that Fubin (an illustrator) was actually commissioned to create artwork for Meyrink's The Golem but this was delayed. So instead he decided to write a story that could utilise these drawings and simply build a story around them (my copy did include these rather grotesque pencil images). But I just never felt that the story quite matched up to them.
 

Anyway, of this genre, I didn't think it was that interesting. Worth a look certainly but nothing that amazing. I liked some aspects of the book but mostly found it rather prosaic. I was hoping for some kind of twist ending, a big reveal, but all I got was Fubin reminding us that everything in life whether magical or mundane is ultimately banal:

True hell lies in the fact that this discordant clash continues within us. Even love has its focus between faeces and urine.

 

5/10

[Hux]

Death and The Penguin (1996) Andrey Kurkov

Perhaps one of the most mediocre things I've read in a long time, certainly among the most forgettable. Another contemporary novel that disappointed me. Honestly, I read stuff like this and wonder how on earth certain people get publishing deals. It bewilders me. This whole book felt like it was written for people who struggle to watch TikTok videos without getting distracted. Simplistic prose, banal, dull, unutterably lifeless, and peppered with equally dry dialogue. It's one of those books that's very easy to read so you don't actually notice how thoroughly empty the thing is. I can't even say I disliked it, but merely found it boring.

In theory, the story is an original idea, a man commissioned to write advanced obituaries for people who aren't dead yet but who are, not long after they're submitted by our protagonist, the aspiring author, Viktor, murdered by the gangsters using the newspaper as a front. This is presumably why the book has those horrible phrases on the front cover such as: 'brilliant satire' or 'black comedy.' That should have been my first clue. Then we have the fact that Viktor lives with a penguin (how very zany) due to the zoo closing down and needing people who are willing to adopt various animals. He later gets lumbered with Sonya, the child of a mysterious neighbour (also called Misha like the penguin), then comes the love interest NIna. What follows is some Kafkaesque mimicry enveloped in obvious satire (he now becomes the focus of a new obituary writer and the penguin needs to go to Antarctica). But none of it matters because this whole book is just predictable and lifeless.

Reading this reminded me of Before the Coffee Gets Cold, another book written for people who enjoy easy to digest narratives that demand very little of the reader, neither challenging nor beautiful, just wallpaper for the mind. This is the reason why I have so little time for modern literature, it's all so vapid and soulless, so trapped by form and function. Yes, easy to read but so thoroughly bloodless. You can't just have a nice idea for a novel, you have to actually write prose that sparkles and dances, otherwise it's just beige coloured paste being flung into your mouth as you chew, unthinkingly, like a docile cow. Perfectly well-written but, in my opinion, utterly valueless as literature. Ask me about it next week, and I'll have no memory of this book whatsoever. 

 

3/10

[Hux]

War Trash (2004) Ha JIn

Having read Waiting and mostly enjoyed it, I was expecting to like this more since it was about war and would presumably focus more on that and less on the existential nightmare of a relationship that is never allowed to begin. Unfortunately, I found this significantly less interesting, mostly because very little happens and secondly because Ha Jin's writing is very listless and dull, prosaic, matter of fact etc. It's not bad writing, it's just very perfunctory. It was easier to ignore with Waiting because that story had an intriguing dynamic but this is more straight-forward.

The book is about a young Chinese soldier, a 'volunteer' called Yu Yuan, who is fighting on behalf of the Chinese Communists in the Korean War. It's told from his later perspective as an elderly man now living in the USA writing his memoir. As a young man he left his mother and fiance behind and, understandably, had a strong desire to get back to them. It begins with his unit engaging the enemy sporadically but mostly it concerns their ceaseless marching towards various locations. Very early on in the book he and his unit are captured and placed in a series of prisoner of war camps where the book settles for the duration. This is essentially the meat and potatoes of the story, switching from a Nationalist camp to a Communist camp, and only the occasional distraction of intrigue here and there, such as escape attempts, religious leaders, his desire to improve his English, a dog named Blackie, a captured American general, and several (very well researched) forays into the finer details of the war. From that angle, it might appeal to people because I thought the military stuff was effectively done, meticulous even, and nicely realised. It was tempting to think this was indeed a personal memoir but Ja Hin wasn't even born until 1956 so hats off for researching and creating such a convincing world. The problem is I just didn't think it was ever that interesting.

Ultimately, Ha Jin's writing is very basic. I think I said the same when reviewing Waiting. It's just very functional and, as such, never develops into anything remotely challenging or exquisite, it's just there to do a job, move you along. You can dismiss this as deliberate (given that the fictional Yu Yuan is not a writer himself) but since this was also the case with Waiting, I think that might be generous. Overall, I was never that interested in the narrative and found his writing was simply too dry to bring any of it to life. It was fine, well researched (you could genuinely believe this was a real memoir), but not much more.

If you liked Waiting or are a fan of military novels then I'd recommend it. 

 

5/10

[Hux]

The Sorrows of Young Werther (1774) Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe

 

I've been meaning to read this one for a while now, the classic story of unrequited love. The book is written as an epistolary novel with Werther writing to his friend Wilhelm over the course of nearly two years but it often feels like you're reading a diary, only the moments when he speaks directly to Wilhelm in the letters reminding you otherwise. In fact, it seems like an awful lot of letters to write over such a short period of time if you ask me (God only knows how sick of his love-struck wining Wilhelm must have been). But I suppose that's not considered too unusual for the time period. 

The story, as manufactured by Werther, is essentially that of a romantic young man who, after visiting a local village, meets a young woman called Lotte. He quickly falls in love with her despite knowing she is engaged to an older man called Albert and as the letters go along, you can sense his increasing frustration and heartache. He goes away for a time but on his return discovers that Lotte and Albert are married and, slowly but surely, we see him descend deeper into misery and despair. Gradually, suicide seems like the only way out. As is often the case with romantics. 

Similar to a lot of books written at this time, it has a very distinct feel, a slightly melodramatic quality which is obviously dated, and where sentences seem overly flamboyant and often begin with the word oh. "Oh, how my heart beats for her." That sort of thing, etc. It's perfectly readable but I can't say I found it especially romantic or even very existential in the traditional sense of a man who, often a loner, cannot find success with a woman. It feels too distant as a piece, too inauthentic and even silly, despite being based on Goethe's own life experiences and heartbreak. I also never entirely felt certain how Lotte felt about all this, the ending suggesting a certain grief on her part but not necessarily for any reason other than losing a friend. And the occasional response from Wilhem (the poor bugger who had to endure all these moaning missives) might have been nice too but we get nothing. Plus, I disliked the strange interruption to the letters where the book suddenly turns into a standard narrative as it felt odd (and a bit of a cheat if you ask me). Nonetheless, the book is definitely worth a look as a classic but there's nothing too spectacular here. 

 

6/10

[Hux]

Riders in the Chariot (1962) Patrick White

 

The first quarter of this book included some of the most astonishingly accomplished prose I have ever read; writing of such fluid genius and creative invention, sentences that were exquisite, lyrical, original. Every second paragraph, I would have to stop and re-read a sentence because it was just so mesmerising and beautiful. Each chapter was a work of art in itself. And this language was used in service of a grotesquely fascinating story of two cantankerous old women, Miss Hare, the owner of a house called Xanadu and her new, equally cantankerous and aged housekeeper Mrs Jolley. These two women spar with one another in a manner reminiscent of "What Ever Happened to Baby Jane," their acidic jibes and one-upmanship utterly compelling, full of bluster and wit, callous judgementalism and endless passive/aggressive etiquette. I had never read anything quite so good with such an entertaining premise. 
 

Although there was no more mention of Mrs Flack she was always there at Xanadu. Miss Hare could feel her presence. In certain rather metallic light, behind clumps of ragged, droughty laurels, in corners of rooms where dry rot had encouraged the castors to burst through the boards, on landings where wallpaper hung in drunken brown festoons, or departed from the wall in one long limp sheet, Mrs Flack obtruded worst, until Miss Hare began to fear, not only for her companion and housekeeper, at the best of times a doubtful asset, but, what was far more serious, for the safety of her property.

I honestly could have read writing of that calibre all day. And as I said, I was loving every inch of this book. But alas, White then introduces Mordacai Himmelfarb, another elderly character, a Jew who, having grown up in Germany, endured the First World War, and lost his wife to the growing Third Reich, finds himself emigrating to Australia. The book then focuses an enormous amount of time on him and while the writing is still good, I felt it took second place to the more necessary purpose of giving him a coherent and properly realised backstory. The problem is I just kept reading all this and wanting Miss Hare and Mrs Jolley to come back. And slowly but surely my interest started to wane. It isn't until Part Five (the book has seven parts) that the book does finally go back to them by which point I was already struggling to remain invested. But then, once again, White drops them and introduces yet another character, this time an aboriginal man called Alf Dubbo. And again, I was somewhat losing my initial feeling of awe and adoration. Meanwhile, we also get Ruth Godbold, a woman with a large brood of children who, like the other main characters, shares a religious vision of four horses drawing a chariot towards a better future (hence the title).

I was intrigued by the religious themes, not to mention the importance of being an outsider, or a visionary, and each of these main characters were profound and thoughtful, touched by sadness in various ways, and capable of seeing deeper into life than most people. But I'm not a fan of books that introduce new characters as it goes along, it's often jarring, especially if the first characters you encounter are the ones you find most compelling. Had Mordacai Himmelfarb had is own book, I might have been more engaged but here, he essentially took me away from what I was enjoying -- those two wonderfully mad women. Then comes another new character. Then another. It feels disjointed and remote, difficult to warm to, and I was sad to discover my initial excitement dissipating. Had the book been a short Novella simply focusing on Miss Hare and Mrs Jolley, their irascible sparring and friction, using such insanely brilliant language, I would have considered it an all-time favourite. A stunning work of literature. But, similar to Voss, White slightly outstays his welcome. 

I understand what White was attempting to do but I'm not a fan of continuous introductions of new characters and directions. Maybe drip feed them into the story rather than suddenly change gear. Or just keep them away entirely. It may also be partly my own failing since I was so overwhelmed by that first part, so stunned by its utter magnificence, that I became slightly unwilling to engage with the narrative that came after. But it has to be said, Patrick White is capable of some of the most insanely glorious writing I have ever encountered.

 

8/10

 

[Hux]

The Dark (1965) John McGahern

 

The book opens with a boy, the protagonist, being potentially beaten with a leather belt by his father, Mahoney, before the father ultimately changes his mind, only whipping the chair instead. What a relief, you think to yourself only to keep reading whereupon you see the father get into the boy's bed at night and sexually molest him. Christ! McGahern really does pull the rug from under you in these opening chapters, harrassess and bludgeons you with some quite horrific family trauma. What follows is the story of this abused boy coming to terms with his desire to become a priest but simultaneously, and more urgently, his constant sexual urges for women (and the relentless need for masturbation which this inspires). 

It's certainly an interesting read but not entirely without flaws which somewhat reduced my enjoyment. Firstly, the book begins with a very standard third person narration but as it goes along, it switches, without much warning, to a second person narration. 'You woke up and got dressed. You spoke to the butcher.' etc. I've only ever encountered this before in Calvino's 'If On a Winter's Night a Traveller' and in that book it felt like a deliberate part of the gimmick he was selling. But here, it's simply a style utilised as a narration device on par with first person narration and it's mostly effective (but I'm not sure what it adds, if anything). That is to say you get used to it without ever really gaining much in the process. The only jarring part was the fact that he switched rather than started with second person from the very beginning. As a result, this forced its presence into the foreground more than it should have. The second issue I had with the book is that it's very dialogue heavy, a thing I don't always enjoy as it feels like it stutters the reading experience (at least for me). 

Overall, it was an intriguing novel with some dark themes which wallow in the Irish tradition of Catholic misery and abuse. The sister Joan is also being abused, the father does not get his come-uppance, and the church offers no meaningful solace. So yeah, a bleak novel of violence and traumatised formative adulthood. Hard to measure but ultimately a small novel that was easy to read but which never entirely held my attention. This is my first McGahern and while I wasn't overly impressed I found it compelling enough to want to read more of his work in the future.

 

6/10

[Hux]

Malina (1971) Ingeborg Bachmann

I tried reading a couple of pages of this a few months back and gave up as it seemed to be a style that I instantly recognised as not my thing. But I finally went back to it and, after reading several more pages, came to the conclusion that it wasn't that bad after all. Alas, this feeling didn't last too long and as I got deeper into it my initial feelings of dread returned, that this was a book I would have to wade through, as if through black treacle.

The basic plot concerns an unnamed woman in Austria who lives with an introverted man called Malina but who later meets and has an affair with a more exciting, extrovert Hungarian man called Ivan. He gradually loses interest in her and eventually rejects her while at the same time Malina is dealing with the protagonist's slow descent into madness. I have to say that some of these reflections felt self-indulgent and a little dull. The book then spirals off into fantasy and otherness, a whole section regarding the guilt and consequences of the second world war. I didn't find any of this much fun to read either. The book (I think) is saying something about the brutal masculinity of that war and Bachmann appears to be demonstrating that the duality of man (as presented by Malina and Ivan) is a struggle, which from her female perspective, is at the heart of all human experience. There's a large portion which revolves around her father at this point too. She, like society as a whole, is more excited by what Ivan represents but acknowledges that the security of what Malina represents remains necessary. As such, it's noteworthy, I think, that the book is called Malina as though she, the protagonist, is merely visiting his story. Because it's always HIS story. Because life is a man's story.

But I don't know for sure. It felt like that's where she was going with this but the truth is, I struggled to make sense of a lot of it and barely enjoyed the experience. The book is almost tempting the reading to interpret it by virtue of the reader's gender because it has that female touch in the prose, a female consciousness and internal world which is meandering and difficult (as a man) to fully grasp. Women readers might have an entirely different experience of this, one which is more intuitive. Hard to say for certain but this whole book screamed... you are locked inside a woman's mind. In many ways, it was like the inverse version of Kundera's Unbearable Lightness of Being.

But I slogged my way though it and never truly understood or enjoyed it. I'm tempted to describe it as experimental writing (it does contain large portions of script-like dialogue and dream sequences) but the truth is I found the text generally very basic, often prosaic, and essentially a standard narration. But it definitely felt like there was an experimental quality. There's something of value here, no doubt, even something quite profound, but from my own (very male) perspective I couldn't find it and was ultimately a little bored by the whole thing. Hard to review because it was saying something important but I just couldn't discern what. 

 

4/10

[Hux]

The Fly (1965) Richard Chopping

It took forever to find a copy of this book and I was intrigued to read it due to the many reviews (some of them are on the book itself) which suggested that the book was depraved, shocking, sick, diabolical, scatological, filthy etc. I was, therefore, very excited to read what, presumably, would be a very transgressive novel about "unspeakable people and the unmentionable things they do." Instead, what I actually got was a rather tame novel about a collection of office workers in the 1960s and their complex interpersonal relationships. 

Sure, the book begins with three urchin children (belonging to the office caretaker Mrs Macklin) playing with a used condom on the end of a stick (tied off at the end apparently and therefore reducing the possibility of a disgusting outcome) and showing it to the office workers as they arrived at work, but beyond this opening, there's very little in the book that I would actually describe as depraved or shocking. These children, a recurring group throughout the novel, seemingly spend all day just hanging around outside the office with little else to do (it was the '60s, children and dogs just wandered the streets). Meanwhile we have Mr Gender who is in love with Miss Jeacock who, in turn is in love with O'Flattery, an Irish man (apparently his only character trait), who is himself being pursued by the aforementioned Mrs Macklin. I have to say, the opening few chapters of this book were utterly sublime, wonderfully written, full of creative and intelligent prose, and highly accomplished.

The gimmick of the book (and the reason for its title) is that each of these encounters (be they in the office or at the homes of the characters) are witnessed by a fly, a kind of observer who, unlike the humans with their selfish desires and unnatural behaviours, is positively quaint and noble by comparison. I think we're supposed to conclude that it's the same fly throughout the novel but given the distances involved in these various environments, it seems unlikely and so instead I think we must ultimately conclude that the species (Musca domestica) as a whole are observing our curious human ways. Anyway, as I said, I really enjoyed the opening chapters. They were very compelling, entertaining, and well-written. 

Alas, Chopping lingers a little too long on certain events (Mr Gender declares his unrequited love for Miss Jeacock leading to disaster) and he doesn't fully utilise his premise of the fly as an unseen and platonic witness. Truth be told, it was a nice way to start the book but it becomes increasingly redundant as it goes along. There are too many uneventful chapters and the exploration of the mundane never quite reaches the heights (neither in terms of writing nor story) that were present at the beginning. It's a novelty book, unique and worth reading, and with some genuine moments of excellent writing. But it is, ultimately, overwritten and fizzles out into a damp squib by the very end. Plus, if, like me, you were expecting some depravity and filth (all things promised), sadly you get very little of that. Instead, the worst you get is a young girl holding a used condom on the end of a stick. Which perhaps works as a nice analogy for the book itself. Interesting at first but then slightly tiresome.

 

6/10