 This short (166 pages) but beautifully paced novel is easily read in two or three sittings but only the meanest of critics will feel short changed as a result of this brevity. It essentially tells the story of a wedding night which goes catastrophically and messily astray. Ian McEwan has a great talent for tight examination of seminal moments in his characters' lives which alter irrevocably the entire course of their futures. Readers of his previous work such as Atonement or Enduring Love will know that already but here too is the undercurrent of unease which darkens other McEwan books such as Black Dogs or The Comfort of Strangers.
The majority of the tale is set in the years immediately preceding the sexual revolution of the mid-1960s. On a July evening in 1962 two newly-weds, Edward Mayhew and Florence Ponting, stumble through an awkward dinner at a hotel on the Dorset coast overlooking Chesil Beach and the Fleet Lagoon, anticipating the first night of their married lives with mixed emotions. Both are virgins, and each has their reasons for anxiety. For Florence, the prospect of engaging in penetrative sex with her new husband terrifies her to the point of hysteria. The manuals she has read have struck a chord of revulsion within her with words such as "membrane" and "glans". By contrast, Edward's fear is that he lacks the necessary self control to prevent him ruining his wedding night by "arriving too soon".
Over the course of this psychologically insightful novella, McEwan elicits a deep compassion for both Edward and Florence in the reader and it is this compassion which makes witnessing their inability to overcome their conjugal differences all the more heartbreaking. Through numerous flashbacks into the two protagonists' lives leading up to the point of the wedding night, the reader is able to build up an understanding of these characters that they are unable to grasp themselves. Beneath the surface of every unspoken word, awkward silence or tumble weed inducing attempted joke, the reader can see through to the real affection that exists between them and their ardent but ultimately conflicting desires to please the other and go on to lead happy fulfilling lives.
McEwan writes extraordinarily well with seldom a word misplaced and we drift subtly, without even noticing, between events within the marital chamber and those of years gone by. The book looks unflinchingly, but not without humour, at the conventionally English emotions and traits of repression, deception of others and of the self and at lifelong mournful regret. That might not sound immediately appealing, I grant you, but I have no hesitation in recommending one of the best works of fiction I've read in many many months. |
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Written by Kevin |
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Monday, 14 July 2008 |
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 I have wanted to write about my experiences of reading The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins (2006), and the discussions with friends which followed, for some time. Dawkins hopes that people who perhaps haven't thought seriously about religion or the existence of God, those who are "sitting on the fence" on the subject, may be encouraged to do so after reading his book. What surprised me most during discussions between my friends and I on the subject was the fact that it seemed impossible to have a dispassionate yet serious conversation about religion with anyone, regardless of their religiosity or lack thereof.
One of the main criticisms I have encountered concerning The God Delusion is a dislike for the manner of Dawkins' angry, rant-like rhetoric and it is true that he pulls no punches when addressing the subject of organised religion, provocatively describing the "indoctrination" of children as akin to "child abuse". This highlights the unspoken societal rule that a persons religious beliefs are to be afforded a level of respect far above that given to their political beliefs or their particular tastes in art or music for instance. Religious beliefs are almost above criticism. I can berate someone for their electoral voting inclinations without fear of serious reprisal so long as I remain civil and as polite as the situation demands. I can say that someone's admiration for the music of Billy Ray Cyrus shows shockingly poor taste and that every minute they have spent listening to it was a waste of their time here on earth. However, I cannot say to a person of faith that I think their belief in God is also a waste of their time and that their holy books are fictions based on myth, at least not to their face, without fearing that I will have crossed some kind of line in the sand, no matter how polite I am about it. If I call any particular organised religion "ridiculous" and go on to qualify that by saying that I believe the deity or deities involved to be a figment of the human imagination, adherents to that religion have a right to be offended if they so wish, as long as their reaction remains a legal and reasonable one, but the notion that I would also have managed to offend and slander some kind of omnipotent super being through my pronouncements is a little more unsettling. Just what sort of all powerful creator would be the least bothered by what I had to say and then also require the intervention of human followers to teach me a lesson I'd never forget? It is this notion of untouchable deference towards religious beliefs which has been the main source of debate surrounding The God Delusion and it is the area which generates the most heated discussions among those I have spoken with on the topics covered within the book. It is a shame that this aspect takes up so much attention because there is so much more within the pages to stimulate the mind. For many people the intricate complexity of the natural world cannot be something which has arisen through mere chance and the only coherent answer to the existence of intelligent life which can be imagined is the co-existence of a creator. What Dawkins does both in this book, and more so in his previous works on evolutionary biology (especially The Blind Watchmaker, 1986), is present the case for life arising through innumerable small steps over an almost unfathomable period of time, Darwinian evolution, and he does so with admirable clarity for the non-scientist or layman. Human beings struggle with the thought of their own deaths and spend a lot of time worrying over what may or may not happen afterwards. Believers in a deity may find solace thinking that they will be saved and ascend to heaven. Even if it is the other, hotter, place they end up there is still something after death. A typical atheistic thesis may be that after death your body is either buried and then slowly consumed by soil-dwelling creatures or otherwise disposed of, by burning for instance, and that your conciousness flickers out of existence when brain function ceases. Far from turning all atheists into doom-laden depressives it should really encourage them to make the most of their lives here on earth. Why be scared and worried about death when you're not going to be around to see it? Whatever the (unknowable) truth about what happens after your own death it does seem utterly pointless to spend a great deal of time agitating about it beforehand. Dawkins' The God Delusion may have some notable flaws in its execution and may veer towards table thumping self-indulgence in sections but it certainly cannot be accused of a lack of passion and it is provocative in a way that is guaranteed to promote debate, whether among your friends and peers or within the confines of your own head and that is probably the author's main aim in the first place. |
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Written by Kevin |
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Monday, 09 June 2008 |
 I've just heard that one of my all time musical heroes ... no scratch that ... all time heroes period, Tom Waits, is to play the Edinburgh Playhouse at the end of July. He's going to be there on both the 27th and 28th and these are his only UK shows. I'm expecting a bit of a fight to get hold of tickets but I'm in tenacious mood.
As it happens, I have just finished reading Innocent When You Dream (Tom Waits: The Collected Interviews) edited by Mac Montandon and thought I might chew the fat a little about it and about my long time admiration for Waits. I received the book as a Christmas present from my good friend Dave Scott who shares with me both a great appreciation of Tom Waits's music and a comfortable relationship with the Waitsian world. It has proved to be a wise choice of gift and the book gives the reader a good insight into the head of this enigmatic and prolific artist, even though whatever Waits tells you about himself may or may not have any truth to it. "I'm going to pull your string from time to time" he tells the interviewer from Playboy magazine at the start of their 1988 conversation in a seedy downtown L.A. cafe.
It was an easy introduction to Waits's music for me. Hearing his 1976 release Small Change during a late night whisky-soaked wind down after finishing my shift as a bartender in Aberdeen during the early 1990s. I was immediately hooked. Some people I know are put off by his scabrous rasp of a singing voice but for me they are missing out on one of the true greats of modern music. That voice, whether screaming through a police bullhorn as on Hang on St. Christopher (Franks Wild Years 1987) or whispering close to the microphone as on Poor Edward (Alice 2002) can convey emotion in such an immediate way.
The inebriated troubadour blues of the early records on the Asylum label gave way to more experimental instrumentation on Swordfishtrombones, Rain Dogs and Frank's Wild Years during the 80s to great effect and the book gives the reader a fascinating insight into the unique methods Waits has employed over the years to make his music. Over the course of 35 years in the business Waits has become a greatly respected artist through his uncompromisingly single-minded stance, dismissive of any commercial concessions. "You know, when a guy is singing to me about toilet paper - you may need the money but, I mean, rob a 7-eleven! Do something with dignity and save us all the trouble of peeing on your grave" (Tom Waits, Musician Magazine 1987). His feeling is, rightly in my opinion, that an artist's work no longer carries the same weight when it is adorned with someone else's logo. He has successfully sued several advertising companies for using his material without permission or even using a sound-a-like singer. His distaste for the commercialisation of culture is an aspect of his personality that I heartily applaud.
The chronological story of Tom Waits's life is held within the pages of Innocent When You Dream but, then again, alternate versions of his story orbit around the truth with casual ease. He may have been born in 1949 in the back of a taxi ... or in a truck, or perhaps somewhere a little less unconventional. Why let the truth get in the way of a good story? He has had a varied career as an actor too. Starring alongside Jack Nicholson, Lily Tomlin, Meryl Streep, Keanu Reeves, Richard E. Grant, Gary Oldman and Roberto Benigni among others. Waits has penned several film soundtracks, had his songs covered by artists as diverse as The Eagles, Bruce Springsteen, Rod Stewart, Tim Buckley, Scarlett Johansson (yes, you read that correctly) and Screamin' Jay Hawkins and taken part in several theatrical collaborations. He has also somehow found the time to raise three children with his wife Kathleen Brennan.
He tells a nice tale about being asked by his kids why he didn't have a normal job like all the other dads. "I told them this story: In the forest, there was a crooked tree and a straight tree. Every day, the straight tree would say to the crooked tree, "Look at me...I'm tall, and I'm straight, and I'm handsome. Look at you...you're all crooked and bent over. No one wants to look at you." And they grew up in that forest together. And then one day the loggers came, and they saw the crooked tree and the straight tree, and they said, "Just cut the straight trees and leave the rest." So the loggers turned all the straight trees into lumber and toothpicks and paper. And the crooked tree is still there, growing stronger and stranger every day".
If you have never listened to Tom Waits in the past I urge you to do so now. With so much music these days amounting to little more than "jingles" you can safely dive into the vast back catalogue of an artist such as Waits and feel that all is not lost with the world. I'll end this post by giving him the last word.
Interviewer: What is a gentleman?
Tom Waits: A man who can play the accordion, but doesn’t. |
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Written by Kevin |
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Friday, 23 May 2008 |
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