Audrey Niffenegger – Her Fearful Symmetry

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Audrey Niffenegger, Books, Her Fearful Symmetry, reading, The Time Traveler's WIfe

‘Her Fearful Symmetry’ by Audrey Niffenegger, London, Vintage Books, 2010, 482 pages, £7.99

We fell in love with The Time Traveler’s Wife because it was unusual, unfathomable and wholly engrossing. In this follow-up, Niffenegger continues her perusal of the supernatural and the weird, swapping time-travel romance for ghostly familial relations.

Niffenegger entwines two stories of two sets of twins, the first Elspeth and Edie, followed by the next generation Valentina and Julia. Oddly, all four could be considered the protagonists of the novel, yet strangely, they are the characters you learn the least about, as Niffenegger maintains a sense of mystery throughout.

What starts off as a story about inheritance soon takes a twisted turn into the world of the grotesque. When Elspeth dies she leaves her fortune and her flat to her estranged sister’s twin daughters. Julia and Valentina arrive in London to a flat on the outskirts of Highgate Cemetery, where Elspeth is interred; however much to everyone’s surprise Elspeth still happens to reside in the flat with them in a ghostly form. What follows is a series of strange séance style communications where Elspeth builds a relationship with the twins.

Despite the strangeness of the situation, the plot fails to arouse the same intrigue as Niffenegger’s first novel. Part of the reason for this is because we’ve been reading ghost stories since the 19^th century, so the concept is nothing new. Although, while Dickens, James, and Poe all experimented with the notion of ghosts, two centuries later, their novels still manage to evoke a sense of displacement – something which Her Fearful Symmetry never quite achieves. Ghost stories are designed to spook and unnerve you, yet in Niffenegger’s novel, the inclusion of ghosts does not surprise the reader, and instead it all feels like an oddly natural occurrence. Although Niffenegger does her best to give it a brand new twist and create a sense of shock, it somehow never reaches the eerily affecting levels of her 19^th Century counterparts.

No matter how hard Niffenegger tries to give her story an edge, throwing in twists and turns with murders and resurrection attempts, the story still fails to lift.  In some ways, the problem is that she is trying too hard. When the plot gives way to resurrections as Elspeth begins to play with the extraction of living souls, you can’t help but scoff in disbelief and hunt for all the plot flaws – something that never occurred in The Time Traveler’s Wife, where the reader’s faith in the story was unquestionable.

Although it feels wrong to keep comparing Her Fearful Symmetry to Nifenegger’s stunning debut, you cannot help but feel more than a little disappointed when it fails to come close to her earlier standards. Niffenegger is without a doubt a talented writer, and she does make you want to read on and finish the story, all the while expectant of something more, but unfortunately even the ending feels abrupt. On a whole the novel falls short of sparkle, leaving you bereft of the same reading pleasure as her debut.

Yes Her Fearful Symmetry is unusual, and unfathomable, but perhaps too much so, it causes the reader to question its plausibility and hence lacks the wholly engrossing quality that her readers so desired more of.

Philip Roth – Nemesis

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2011, Books, Man Booker Prize, Nemesis, Philip Roth, polio, reading

‘Nemesis‘ by Philip Roth, London, Vintage, 2011, 280 pages, £7.99

Set in 1944, Philip Roth’s ‘Nemesis’ paints a very real portrait of the loss of one’s humanity. Littered in pain and chaos, Roth vividly captures his protagonist’s downfall.

Following Eugene ‘Bucky’ Cantor, a sprightly young man, full of prospects, living in the Weequahic district of New Jersey (where Roth himself grew up), Bucky is unable to be drafted to fight in the war because of his eyesight. Nevertheless, Bucky has his whole life planned out ahead of him, with a steady and rewarding job managing the communal playground where all the young boys look up to him, and a dotingly perfect fiancé, life would be seemingly perfect. However, even though Bucky may have been lucky, escaping the war – albeit to his disappointment – yet almost as if in penance to the fact that he missed the war, Bucky is stricken with what he could never expect to be plagued with – a polio epidemic.

Roth wastes no time in relaying the subject matter of the novel, as readers are instantly put on ‘polio alert’. With descriptions of symptoms and statistics, the opening pages of the novel almost read like a descriptive textbook. However, the listings of cases and speculative causes merely wash over the reader and do little to create much impact. While Roth may not captivate with his non-fictional-esque descriptions, his brilliance shines in actual storytelling, as it is not until the symptoms actually occur to some of the characters that the impacts of polio truly get across to the reader.

Interestingly, the polio epidemic displayed in the novel is fictional, however the events are loosely based on the New York polio epidemic of 1916. But the change of date makes for a dramatic effect as the epidemic in Bucky Cantor’s predominantly Jewish neighbourhood perfectly mirrors the horrific events of the holocaust, while avoiding any mention of the like.

For a novel set in wartime, it does much to entirely avoid the subject. War is like the big “elephant in the room” so to speak, persistently threatening Bucky Cantor’s manhood, as he was unable to fight. In an age where war was glorified, the threat of emasculation constantly pervades Bucky, and he finds himself fighting his own personal battle. Bucky is to “make a man of himself” and the only way to do so without actively being in the war is by fulfilling his duties at home, yet his masculine fulfilment is interrupted by the arrival of polio, an unbeatable opponent.

The title itself ‘Nemesis’ is thoroughly apt as Roth explores the concept in both meanings of the word. Not only is polio Bucky Cantor’s arch nemesis, and his own war, but Bucky also battles with his perceptions of polio as an act of divine intervention. The passages where Bucky contemplates the actions of God are perhaps the most striking of all. When faced with a horrific tragedy where children are dying, Bucky cannot fathom an existence of a benevolent God. Written with such believable finesse it is Roth’s portrayal of his bitter contentment that is indisputably compelling.

As my first introduction to Roth’s work, I didn’t experience much of the humour that I had heard Roth was so famed for. However, what I did encounter was a frighteningly real work of fiction that can only be achieved by exemplary writing, ‘Nemesis’ truly showcases Roth’s genuine talent and is entirely deserved of its 2011 Man Booker Prize win. It’s a masterful work of pessimism, tackling a stark subject matter to provide a hard-hitting glimpse into a (thankfully) predominantly eradicated virus, and Roth’s intelligent – yet not overbearing – writing, makes it hard for any readers not to be moved.

‘A [long] week in December’ by Sebastian Faulks

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A Week in December, Books, london, reading, Review, satire, Sebastian Faulks, Vintage

‘A week in December’ by Sebastian Faulks, London, Vintage, 2010, 390 pages, £7.99 

Sebastian Faulks’ most recent novel, attempts to portray a snapshot of middle-class London life. What critics described as a Dickensian attempt at the ‘Great British novel’, appears as a complicated and rather banal portrayal of contemporary London life. On the surface, “banal” may seem a poor choice of adjective, considering that the novel follows an array of characters ranging from Islamic extremists and schizophrenics, to train drivers and politicians. Yet somehow, the novel falls short of excitement.

Albeit much of the 19^th Century social satire was far from eventful, yet in this day and age, a novel with a set-up of characters like these carries expectations of much more action. No one can flaw Faulks’ writing, which is richly flamboyant and knowledgeable, however, the actual content and plotlines (if any) come across as lack-lustre.

Opening with dinner plans at newly crowned MP Lance Topping’s residence, his wife Sophie muses through the seating plans for the guest-list, which inevitably consists of the interlinked characters within the novel. The list comprises of a variety of peoples from the haplessly lovelorn lawyer Gabriel, to Spike the newly transferred star footballer. The guests also include a dodgy dealing hedge fund manager, John Veals whose obsession with money has reciprocated in a distraught and misshapen family. Also in attendance are the al-Rashid’s, an entrepreneurial family in the pickle manufacturing business, who despite all their surface happiness are unawares of their son’s radical take on Islam, and his terrorist connections. Faulks’ most notably successful aspect of recreating social satire resides within the character of journalist R. Tranter whose pessimistic reviews and resentful hatred of other critics is vibrantly portrayed, and not without a subtle hint of irony towards Faulks’ own critics.

Whilst following these characters’ individual stories in alternating sections, it is easy to be drawn in, and to become expectant of a climax when all the characters are due to meet at the Topping’s dinner. However, in stark contrast to this, events go rather undeterred, and rather ironically, life simply goes on. Faulks’ novel could be interpreted as a stroke of brilliance or, an eternal bore. Its genius aspects reside in the fact that it does provide a glimpse of London life and the very fact that life in general is full of anticlimaxes, and that no matter what, life always goes on. Or you could think this novel goes on too long and never gets anywhere, and is ultimately a disappointment. Whichever you choose, one thing will be mutual amongst all readers, and that is the unmistakable feeling that you always get whilst reading Faulks, the feeling that you are basking with the one of the country’s most profound, intellectual and ambitious writers around today.

 

Get your fingers into this! – ‘Fingersmith’ by Sarah Waters

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Books, Fingersmith, Nineteenth Century, Sarah Waters, Sensation Fiction, Virago

‘Fingersmith‘ by Sarah Waters, London, Virago, 2011, 416 pages, £12.99 

Set in 1862, Sarah Waters attempts to recreate the magic of Nineteenth Century sensation fiction. Drawing on the likes of Mary Elizabeth Braddon, imitating Wilkie Collins, and borrowing from Dickens, Waters is rewriting those fictions with a modern edge. In the nineteenth century, sensation fiction caused such a stir because it was a genre, which revolutionised literature by featuring detailed “scandalous” scenes, which were designed to shock readers. But in today’s tabloid society, where prudence is somewhat forgotten, it’s hard to create the equivalent shock reaction within readers. So in order to combat this, Waters places you back in nineteenth century society with familiar surroundings and styles, evoking reading nostalgia.

Opening in the criminal underworld-esque setting, named ‘the Borough’, that is deliberately reminiscent of Fagin’s Den, Waters is fully addressing the obvious comparisons for her work, by even making the characters attend a play of Oliver Twist. Yet unlike Dickens, Waters’ characters are much fuller and developed: ‘Mrs Sucksby’ is the Fagin of the ‘Borough’ – the loving yet loathing leader of the pact, ‘Gentleman’ is the double-edged, mysteriously unreadable charmer – whom one might even call Artful, and the Nancy of it all – ‘Daisy’ is the crude, roughly handled but lovably honest dame. Amongst revamping Dickens, Waters also revives one of the most fundamental characteristics of Nineteenth century fiction: cliffhangers. Modern day fiction struggles to create the same gasping effects as Victorian fictions, which were designed specifically to fluctuate emotions and hook readers. In today’s televisually oriented society where books seemingly take a second seat to the screen, achieving the same gripping effects are undeniably a challenge. Yet Waters will make you miss your favourite programs on the telly and not even care for the loss, as this fiction will have you glued.

Waters intends to create a page-turner in the most sophisticated, mind engaging way. Following the lives of two women, Susan Trinder and Maud Lily whose lives are completely opposite, yet curiously intertwined, Waters leaves their identities open to question. The narrative is divided between the two women, however their narratives are both inclusive, yet unreliable, as the reader never knows whom to trust. Waters questions the perceptions of identity and belonging by frustratingly leaving unanswered questions, causing the reader to feel the same exasperations as the characters. To add an extra layer of complexity, beneath this criminally masterminded tale of lost identity, also lies a story of passion. Both Susan and Maud grow up living each other’s lives, but when they do meet they both find more than just their identities, they find love – but it is of the most scandalous proportions. With convoluted schemes of betrayal and deliberately complex characters, the novel is quickly devoured in the hope of discovering the truth.

Albeit complicated, far-fetched and occasionally too overdone, ‘Fingersmith’ is undeniably beautifully written. Waters creates a spiralling story, accompanied with violent murder, sex and unpredictable betrayals, which will leave readers craving more. It’s dramatic, unexpectedly shocking, and definitely a gripping page-turner.

These Roots Grow Deeper than you could ever Imagine

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Bernardine Evaristo, Blonde Roots, These Roots Grow Deeper than you could ever imagine

Blonde Roots, by Bernardine Evaristo, Penguin, London, 2008, 261 pages, £8.99

TAKE EVERYTHING you know about the history of slavery and turn it on its head. Imagine the slave songs and replace them with Scarborough fair, imagine Europe as the Third world and imagine the ‘whytes’ as slaves and the ‘Aphrikans’ as slave owners. In this novel, Evaristo takes role-reversal to the extreme, rewriting civilisation as we know it.

Evaristo depicts the tale of a young girl – Doris Scagglethorpe, (or as known by her slave name as Omorenomwara) and her plight to escape slavery. Pulled away from her normal life as a child in the ‘Great Ambossa’ (aka the United Kingdom) and forced into a life of slavery under Chief Kaga Konata Katamba I, (whose initials ironically Spell KKK), the reader follows Doris’s long and struggling journey to freedom. Through Doris’s encounters we are shown an insight into the dangerous life of a slave, witnessing violence, abuse, a KKK branding and rape. Although for most readers this would be bordering on risqué territory, however its brutality is necessary as the true effects of the novel are felt when the reader realises that these hard-hitting incidences are based on fact.

Evaristo’s novel joins the long line of texts that were written in retort to Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. However, unlike her predecessors, Evaristo’s answer takes a different approach, attempting to tackle Conrad in a full-on fearless way. She satirises Conrad’s text in obvious ways, playfully naming an entire chapter ‘Heart of Greyness’. Evaristo is taking a clear-cut gendered and racial approach in her response, targeting the bulk of the issues just by appointing a white female slave as her protagonist.

Evaristo makes you see everyday things in a brand new, but believable way. Using existing structures such as the London Underground, and rebranding them with witty vernacular-sounding names such as the ‘Bakaloo line’, the reader is compelled to recognise and re-familiarise themselves with these norm structures. Bursting with creativity, Evaristo forces you to re-imagine and re-envision day-to-day life. Playing with colloquialisms, toying with familiarity and twisting perceptions, make no mistake – Evaristo’s text should not be taken as a mere parody on slavery; this text ambitiously attempts to re-write history. Taking on the tantalising task of Africanising Europe, Evaristo’s first novel is quite impressive; her poetic creativity seeps through as she vividly re-invents society. She successfully pulls off a difficult concept and does it respectably, by drawing out the satire within both sides of the conflict.

Admittedly, it takes a while to feel the full effects of the role reversal, from the opening everything feels new and quirky, and all seriousness gives way to amusement. However, once the reader is fully immersed in this re-imagined world the intended emotional effects truly begin to kick-in, as the reader realises that these events are based on truth, except in reality the victims were opposite. Once the acknowledgement of this difference settles in, Evaristo’s novel truly begins to shine as a masterpiece, as the reader is forced to sympathise and reflect on over 400 years of barbaric history.

Not Suitable for Children

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A.S Byatt, Review, The Children's Book, Vintage

The Children’s Book, by A.S Byatt, Vintage, London, 2009, 615 pages, £7.99

DON’T BE confused by the title: make no mistake – this is not a children’s book. Although the cover looks shimmery you’d be wrong to pick it up and expect a light hearted story with a happy ending. Instead, Byatt gives you implicated incest, strong political undertones and confusing storylines.

Byatt has a knack of turning the domestic into a whirlwind of complication. What starts off as a simple story of a successful writer, Olive Wellwood, who carefully crafts tales for each of her children, soon turns into a complex narrative filled with uneasy relationships. Set in the inter-war Edwardian period, Byatt tells the story of three artistically oriented family households, the Wellwood’s, Fludd’s and the Cain’s, who are all curiously interlinked. Creativity is the catalyst to all their conflicts, as the artists truly suffer for their art, sacrificing and neglecting their families. Byatt’s intricate narrative follows both adult and child protagonists as she carefully weaves an unsolvable web where the adults’ promiscuity eventually ripples through to the younger generations.

So, the storyline: let’s start with Olive – she is married to Humphry, who is having an affair with Olive’s sister Violet, and also Marion, all three women with whom he has fathered children with. And Olive is having an affeair with Herbert and she also previously had a child with Anselm Stern. Are you following? It’s complicated, right? And that’s just one of many tangled relationships Byatt has weaved. Add to this, the political and radical ambitions of the younger generations and you have the perfect recipe for confusion.

Stories within stories, unending depth to characters and riddled with literary references, admittedly, at times it does seem as though Byatt is trying too hard; many readers will be overwhelmed by the sheer busyness of the novel. Nevertheless, writing with such finesse, the reader cannot help but be impressed by Byatt’s expanse of knowledge. With quotations and detailed references to pottery artists and a vast catalogue of literature, it is no wonder that the novel was shortlisted for the 2009 Man Booker Prize, as Byatt is clearly not holding back from unloading her barrelful of knowledge. Sure the story is complicatedly weird (with all its troubled childhoods, questionable paternity and struggling marriages), but Byatt (however excessive) is undeniably an incredibly talented writer. Seething with sensuality, Byatt writes with vivid tenacity, making the novel come to life.

The Children’s Book is ironically more a novel about the end of childhood; as each tangled layer of truth is exposed, the children are the sufferers of their parents’ conflicts. However, by the novel’s close, the realities of war end all fantasy and provide an unexpected dose of perspective. Even with all of Byatt’s effort, it is the reader who is left to decipher the tangled web of relationships and attempt to find meaning or a lesson of history within the text. Truthfully, it is an unreasonably lengthy and confusing novel, yet for some strange reason it is written with such flair that it carries an almost hypnotic effect and you just simply cannot put it down, however much you try.