Review of The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet by David Mitchell

I encountered David Mitchell’s book, Cloud Atlas, and was blown away by the ingenuity, inventiveness and sheer audacity of the writing. How could anyone have started such a book imaging he could pull it off – and then succeed?

The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet is an historical novel, set on a tiny man-made island in the bay of Nagasaki. This island of Dejima was the sole gateway between Japan and the West, in the guise of the Dutch East India Company, for some two hundred years. The enclave was where two cultures rubbed shoulders and misunderstood each other. And in 1799 a young clerk, Jacob de Zoet, lands on the island with the intention of making sufficient money to return to Holland and marry his fiancée in five years’ time. Instead, he loses his heart to a beautiful but scarred Japanese midwife.

While the love story winds through the book it isn’t the engine driving the plot – what lies at the heart of this boisterous roller-coaster is the gulf yawning between the Japanese and Europeans. However, I’m not going to say too much more about the plot, because it would be all too easy to throw in a couple of inadvertent spoilers in a storyline that had me gasping aloud in surprise a couple of times. Mitchell plays with his readers expectations by throwing in a few curved balls which I certainly didn’t see coming… Although, you might as well take curved balls in your stride, because almost everything else in packed into this novel.

It takes a while to pick up pace as the reader is plunged into Mitchell’s extravagant prose while he depicts this extraordinary world and his beautifully drawn characters, who leap from the page with three-dimensional vividness. The sense of immediacy is helped as the story is narrated in third person, present tense and I’d advise you to relax and enjoy the richness and complex detail, for once things start kicking off the tale whips along at a cracking rate, with all sorts of double-dealing, corruption and dirty deeds afoot. And Jacob finds himself caught up right in the middle of it all…

The writing is wonderful. In these days of pared back prose bereft of descriptors, Mitchell’s exuberant style is a breath of fresh air. And while the story couldn’t be more different from Cloud Atlas, we do get a glimpse of some of that virtuosity in a wonderful prose-poem describing Nagasaki near the end of the book. Yes – before you ask – it does work…

So… any niggles? Well, there’s one. Captain Penhaligon hoves into Nagasaki bay in the last quarter of the book – and I fell in love with him. However, we never learn his ultimate fate after he finally sails out of the plot and it’s the one dangling end that I personally would like to have seen tied up. But, set against the sprawling, complicated landscape of rival interests and clashing personalities, it is a relatively picky point. Mitchell manages to bring this epic tale to a satisfactory conclusion – and when we finally get the long, hot summer we richly deserve, I’m going to take a few days off, loll on the garden swing and re-read this book to once more get lost in Mitchell’s luscious prose. Do yourself a favour – grab a copy of this book and dive in.
10/10

Review of Room by Emma Donoghue

This was short-listed for last year’s Man Booker prize and won the Rogers Writers’ Trust Fiction Prize for 2010. I got hold of the book after hearing Donoghue’s interview for Radio 4’s Women’s Hour when she mentioned that she was inspired on hearing about five year old Felix in the Fritzl case.

Jack is five and excited about his birthday. He lives with his Ma in Room, which has a locked door and a skylight, and measures eleven feet by eleven feet. He loves watching TV, and the cartoon characters he calls friends, but he knows what he sees on screen isn’t truly real – there’s only him, Ma and the things in Room. Until one day, Ma admits there’s a world outside…

This account could so easily have lingered on the grimness and sheer horror of their existence – but seen through the filter of a small boy, whose young mother has determined to shelter her son as much as possible from the worst aspects of their imprisonment, it becomes something else. Jack’s narrative gives us a fascinating insight in the ability of humankind to survive in a highly difficult situation.

Of course, given that the first person POV is in the head of a small child, the success of this book hinges on how effectively Donoghue managed to convey these fraught circumstances through Jack’s account. I spend a fair amount of my time with a six year old – and her portrayal is spot on. The occasional grammatical mistakes are completely appropriate without being annoying – as was the use of words like ‘hilarious’, which indicates an intelligent, precocious child with unlimited access to a fully engaged adult. Exactly the set-up these two characters experience, in fact…

The other big pitfall Donoghue had to negotiate – and one that I was personally particularly looking out for – was lapsing into any kind of sentimentality. Given the difficult subject matter, it would have been unforgivable to have poured a layer of treacle over this story in the shape of a cute little boy. But while Jack is undeniably remarkable, he has his edges. With his temper tantrums and neediness in ways that most five year olds have outgrown, he is certainly a handful. I found some of the later episodes in the book unbearably poignant as he attempts to cope with all that is happening around him.

The other major character that we see through Jack’s eyes, is Ma. Beautifully written, she defines herself throughout their captivity as Jack’s protector. His survival and wellbeing is her highest priority and she’ll do anything – anything at all to achieve this. Even being polite and obliging to the man holding her, whom Jack calls Old Nick. Again, Donoghue’s characterisation is pitch perfect – right down to the fact that she is constantly struggling with toothache due to a poor diet and no access to a dentist or any form of healthcare during two pregnancies. Her inventiveness in educating and entertaining Jack in their cramped conditions is inspiring without being cloying. Jack also recounts the times when Ma is Gone – having retreated into a fit of depression when she cannot stir herself from the bed.
I finished the book sometime last week and have already completed two other books, since. Normally, that means the previous book is starting to fade. Not so this time. I have a hunch that I’ll still be musing over Jack and Ma from time to time in years to come. There are only a handful of books in my life that have had that impact. They are not the sole reason why I read – I cannot imagine an existence without books in it – but these Golden Reads certainly are life-enhancing, thought provoking gems.
It’s a wonderful start to 2011 to discover another jewel to add to this elite collection…
10/10

Review of A History of the World in 10½ Chapters by Julian Barnes

This is an interesting collection of short stories, connected by the recurring theme of survival. Several are linked to the tale of Noah, which starts the book. However, this particular version differs in many ways from the Biblical account, not least because it is told from the viewpoint of one the ark’s passengers. His funny, jaundiced narration of Noah and his family’s behaviour during the Flood immediately raises issues about the truth. He directly challenges our knowledge of the event, claiming that the Biblical version is a cover up, a gloss on the inept, often disgraceful conduct of Noah and his family.
This classic postmodernist stance runs through the book, like the recurring elements surrounding Noah’s tale. The second story, The Visitors, is also set at sea and is also an account of survival, told from the viewpoint of a history lecturer. His role in the unfolding drama, once the ship is boarded by a group of terrorists, becomes increasingly compromised as he attempts to keep himself and his current girlfriend safe.

The next tale, The Wars of Religion, is the weakest one, in my opinion. Barnes indulges in a recreation of medieval court records for this story. As Barnes notes in the back, this story is based on a true trial set in France. Because it is told through the supposed official records with more than a nod at the fairly convoluted language of the time, the reader doesn’t build a relationship with any of the protagonists and I found myself skimming through it. It could have been effectively told in half the time, and I feel that its inclusion doesn’t really add anything to Barnes’ argument, but has been included because the whole notion caught Barnes’ imagination. However, once we get to the ‘oh my gosh’ moment, there isn’t really anything else to keep this reader’s interest.

The Survivor is a grim tale told in first person point of view by Kath, who attempts to escape the effects of a nuclear conflict and an unhappy relationship by taking a boat to sea with two cats. During her voyage, she becomes delirious and dreams of being kept in a hospital by annoyingly intrusive doctors, who wish to understand the source of her delusions. By the end of the story, we are left to decide for ourselves whether Kath is really at sea with her two well fed cats, or in a hospital room.

The next story, Shipwreck, is another one based on historical fact. In 1816 a small convoy of four vessels set out for Senegal. When one of them, a frigate, ran aground on some reefs, those aboard constructed a raft. However, the whole plan went horribly wrong, with provisions washed away as the raft became waterlogged in heavy seas, leaving the survivors adrift with not enough to eat or drink. Men were murdered, some thrown overboard and finally the remaining corpses were eaten, before a mere fifteen survivors were rescued. This grisly tale, told in omniscient viewpoint, is immediately followed by the second part of the tale. This section deals with the painting that was made of the event and discusses where it deviates from what happened and why. The tone is scholarly, as if discussing this work in an academic essay. There is even a colour reproduction of the painting included in the book.

The Mountain is an account of Miss Fergusson and Miss Logan’s expedition to Mount Ararat during the reign of Queen Victoria, to the monastery that was built on the site of where Noah’s ark finally ran aground as the flood waters receded. Miss Fergusson is a spinster struggling to come to terms with her father’s death and it is one of his final comments that sends her on this quest. She embodies the spirit of the age, with her determination to continue on the journey, whatever the obstacle and her narrow-minded, but wholly sincere belief in the rightness of her particular religious viewpoint. The story’s ending is abrupt and dark.

Upstream is an epistolary account of Charlie’s experience on film location in the Amazon playing the part of a missionary priest. His series of letters, notes and telegrams to his girlfriend back home provide us with his version of events, once again leading up to an unexpected and violent climax. There is humour in this story – unlike the previous four – but it is undeniably dark.

Parenthesis is my favourite story. This, presumably, is the half-chapter of the title. Barnes seems to be writing as himself, musing on the nature of love, the shape of hearts and exactly what the organ represents, as he lies alongside his sleeping wife. There is a quality of tenderness in the writing that I find deeply moving, especially when juxtaposed with some of the searing irony and bleak outcomes of previous chapters. The quiet, fervent love expressed towards his wife shines out of the book like a beacon.

Project Ararat recounts the life story of Spike Tiggler, onetime astronaut, who upon his return to Earth after throwing a football on the Moon, announces that he wants to discover Noah’s ark. We learn of Spike’s background and his wife’s misgivings when he first embarks on this project. There are interesting and disturbing echoes between Spike and Miss Fergusson in their joint desire to find the ark. The ending of the story is ironic and darkly humorous – if you enjoy a good laugh at the blacker end of the spectrum.

The final chapter in this book is an account of heaven told from the viewpoint of an unnamed man. We learn of his initial delight at the wonderful breakfasts, the shopping expeditions and the superb rounds of golf – and what he does next to survive eternity. Like the first story, this tale is plain funny and had me laughing aloud in places.

I found this book a real mixture of light and dark. The theme of survival, snaking around the metaphor of Noah’s ark, was intriguing. Barnes seems to be saying that those who grit their teeth and hang in there are not necessarily the best or nicest. Just determined. That Barnes is a superlative writer is a given. This book showcases his ability to write in a variety of styles, convincingly portraying both men and women through a number of experiences and timescales. I suspect that I will be musing upon the ideas and characters in this book for a long time – but I do have a niggle.

This is a novel like no other – provocative, superbly funny, a wonderful and most original work… gives the reader a sense of ebullient, whooping joy

This is a direct quote from the blurb on the back of the book. The Guardian reviewer who penned such fulsome praise was right in many respects. It is provocative. It is original and very well written. But superbly funny? Gives the reader a sense of ebullient, whooping joy? Not this reader. I enjoyed the occasional shafts of humour, but found the darkness running through the book didn’t leave me even slightly joyful. I’m not convinced that Barnes actually intended anyone to skip away from reading it with an extra spring in their step. There is too much in there designed to shock and jolt us out of our comfort zone. So once more, I’m up on my soap box, having a moan about misleading blurb. This thoughtful, uncomfortable and well-crafted book deserves better than to be tossed aside in disgust by a reader searching for a light-hearted ‘joyous’ romp through history.
9/10

Review of Enduring Love by Ian McEwan

A kind soul lent me this book after a discussion in one of my Creative Writing classes about dramatic beginnings. And he certainly wasn’t wrong…
Joe Rose has planned a romantic picnic with his lover Clarissa after having been away on business. However, the delightful idyll is horribly interrupted when a hot air balloon, attempting a landing, starts to break away from its moorings with a ten year old boy inside. Joe, along with a number of other men, rush to try and anchor it. But when the sudden wind strengthens and Joe finds himself suddenly jerked off his feet as someone else lets go, he follows suit – until only one man, John Logan, is left hanging on – until he plunges to his death… Shocked at the terrible accident and feeling guilty for letting go, Joe rushes to the spot where the dead man is lying and encounters Jed Parry. They exchange a passing glance and Jed, suffering from de Clerambault’s syndrome, immediately falls passionately in love with Joe, with dire consequences.
The novel is a close examination about the nature of love. As Jed’s misplaced passion creates increasing problems for Joe, his relationship with Clarissa suffers. Joe also feels impelled to visit John Logan’s widow – only to discover that she is convinced that her dead husband was entertaining a lover at the time of the accident. Sickened by the discovery, Jean Logan is bitter and furious, rather than grieving…
I found the book a riveting read. These days, I don’t generally bother with literary novels, but this really is excellent. The steadily building tension as Joe struggles to cope with Jed’s stalking and the fault-lines it exposes in his relationship with Clarissa are masterfully depicted. While the sudden plot twists, particularly near the end of the book were all the more shocking for the detailed exposition by Joe of his increasing alienation with his everyday life. I also found the Afterword disturbing – the ‘enduring love’ of the title wasn’t the love between Joe and Clarissa, or Jean and John Logan – it was poor Jed Parry’s obsession with Joe.
This short novel will stay with me for a very long time. The unsettling message that the idealisation of romantic love comes at a very high price if taken too far may not be a new one – you only have to recall Shakespeare’s ‘Dark Lady sonnets. But McEwan’s skilled and thought-provoking treatment left me pondering uneasily about the exact nature of passion.
10/10

Review of ‘I’m the King of the Castle’ by Susan Hill

This book is parked on the library shelf marked Horror. Having said that, there isn’t a vampire, zombie or sword-waving anything in sight. In fact, there isn’t much in the way of blood and gore or even a decent fight (sorry…). So why is it here? Because the book lodged in my brain like a burr since I read it years ago and having recently reread it, it’s every bit as good as I remember.

Charles Kingshaw and his mother find themselves living in a huge Victorian house, when Mrs Kingshaw is forced to find a job as a housekeeper. However, ten-year-old Edmund Hooper, whose father owns the house, bitterly resents the intrusion and determines to make Charles pay. Which he certainly does… As Edmund’s campaign against Charles escalates, Hill takes us on a dark path towards the shocking climax of the book.
There might not be much in the way of supernatural mayhem, but a real sense of dread pervades as Hill carefully crafts a gothic, creepy feel in this tale of anger, longing, loneliness and brutality. The exquisite writing charts the struggles of the four major characters coming to terms with their loveless lives and the toll it takes on all of them. And if it sounds like it isn’t a barrel of laughs – you’d be right. But if you enjoy reading a gripping tale written by a highly accomplished author at the height of her unsettling powers, then this is a must-read book.
The opening sequence in the third chapter, when Charles is attacked by a crow while out walking through a cornfield, is a great example of writing an action scene. Hill describes the landscape with cinematic clarity, while ensuring that the reader sees the whole incident through Charles’ point of view, complete with the thoughts, emotions and sensations of a ten-year-old boy.
‘Kingshaw began to run, not caring, now if he trampled the corn, wanting
to get away, down into the next field. He thought that the corn might be some kind of crow’s food store, in which he was seen as an invader. Perhaps this was only the first of a whole battalion of crows, that would rise up and swoop at him. Get on to the grass, he thought, get on to the grass, that’ll be safe, it’ll go away. He wondered if it had mistaken him for some hostile animal, lurking down in the corn…Sweat was running down his forehead and into his eyes. He looked up. The crow kept coming. He ran.’
(Susan Hill, 1970, p.31)

By the end of this scene, we completely identify with Charles – and also later in the story, come to realise that the crow is also a metaphor for the violence he encounters.
For those interested in such things, Susan Hill is also the author of the classic ghost play The Woman in Black, which has been running in the West End since 1989. She also wrote Mrs DeWinter, sequel to the famous book Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier.
10/10