What I Read On My Christmas Holidays And Beyond

Back in January I promised a Christmas book round-up and here we are in mid Feb and I haven't done one. The only books I read over Christmas that have stayed in my mind this long are Tristram Shandy (Laurence Sterne) and London Fields (Martin Amis). There were others, but as I have forgotten about them you should probably forget about them too.

Tristram Shandy - or, to give it its full title, The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman - I read as part of my new Christmas tradition, which is to read an extremely long classic that I would never attempt at any other time of year. This is because:

a) I have a lot of unbroken reading time at Christmas,
b) I am usually in one place, so I don't have to carry the very long book in my handbag, and
c) It is somehow a more convincing excuse than a short book for burying yourself away in it and ignoring your family, and who hasn't wanted to do that from time to time over Christmas? (With apologies to my beloved family, who read this blog, but who probably do feel like ignoring me from time to time too.)

Extremely long classics of previous years include Middlemarch and Bleak House, both of which I loved, and I am delighted to report that Tristram Shandy made it three out of three.

However I should warn you that Tristram Shandy makes for much harder work than Middlemarch or Bleak House or most other classic novels I have read. It is extremely avant garde, constantly playing with the form of the novel itself and veering off into long digressions - essentially, it is one long digression. Imagine one of those Ronnie Corbett chair monologues...



...for about two thousand pages. Except in the eighteenth century. Put off much?

Plot? There isn't one really, it is supposedly Tristram's life story but he doesn't even manage to get born for at least half of it. You get a lot more about his family - his father, mother and Uncle Toby (one of my favourite characters in fiction) in particular - and various parishioners who live nearby. You also get a lot more of his opinions, which are, on the whole, delightful and very funny. And there are loads of sex jokes if that kind of thing makes you laugh, even if you don't want to admit that they make you laugh. Remember, it's a book, nobody needs to know exactly what you are laughing at.

It is very long but there is no reason that you have to read the whole of Tristram Shandy, you could just read a few volumes (there are nine, usually published together in one book) and then stop when you've had enough, although you will then miss Uncle Toby's affair with the Widow Wadman, which is one of the most entertaining interludes in the book. I would just say take a deep breath, push right through to the end, speed right up every time you get bored and savour the bits that make you laugh. Also, Michael Winterbottom made an excellent film of it, called A Cock And Bull Story, which is appropriately chaotic and postmodern, and stars Steve Coogan (good) and Rob Bryden (excellent). On this rare occasion I'd suggest watching the film before you read the book, as it will help you understand what's going on when the 18th century language and the convoluted storytelling fails you. And make sure you get an edition with lots of explanatory notes in the back.

Hmmm. I wonder if I've sold many copies of that one?

Crashing on to London Fields. Readers of my defunct blog Struggling Author might remember that on the day I signed my book deal I went to Martin Amis's launch party and got very star struck by the person I thought was Martin Amis, who turned out not to have been Martin Amis after all:

I have just done a google image search for Martin Amis only to discover that the person I took for a miniature scale model of Martin Amis is not only not Martin Amis but doesn't even begin to look like Martin Amis. How I managed to go to Martin Amis's launch party and pick out someone completely at random from the crowd and believe him to be Martin Amis with absolutely no additional evidence to go on is entirely beyond me. I suppose they don't call the publishers "Random House" for nothing.

At that point I had never read anything by Martin Amis so it was reasonable for me to be excited. He is one of Britain's greatest living authors after all.

I have now read something by Martin Amis. Oh god, London Fields is awful. AWFUL. It is skillfully well-written awful, in fact the effects of awfulness are presented with deft precision and verve, making it all the more awful and unbearable to read. The entire book drips with so much contempt for everything that were you to keep it in your wardrobe it would start insulting your clothes. What can it be like to be Martin Amis and hate everyone and everything in the world so much? I'd call the novel sexist - the only major female character is a manipulative amoral sex machine whose only weakness is a passion for rear entry (though she cries afterwards, like all girls do, because she feels so defiled) - if only it weren't so scathing about the male characters as well - 1 x stereotype stupid geezer, 1 x stereotype upper class chinless wonder drip. The only character who gets out of the book with even a shred of dignity (though precious little) is an author. Hmmm. It's horrible, the exploitation / sex / murder plot is horrible, the characters are horrible, the jokes are horrible, it's a completely unpleasant experience from beginning to end. No wonder I dreamt that he apologised to me for having written it.

More recently, I have attempted to read A Clockwork Orange, which was helpfully given away with a newspaper. It is, of course, a key and important novel of key importance. One chapter in and I have concluded that it is unreadable. It's famously written in futuristic speak invented by Anthony Burgess (all droogs and moloko and the rest of it), so it's a real struggle, and all you get for that struggle are descriptions of gang muggings and rape. I can see why people say it matters but I can't say that I am enjoying it on any level. It occurs to me that I have only read newspapers and the like telling me that it is essential, I have never met an actual human being who has read it and recommended it to me. Anyone?

Instead I have just started Ali and Nino by Kurban Said and can report that if the rest of the book continues as beautifully as the opening pages I think I have found a new favourite. I will report back when I've finished it. Hey, why not read along with me, kids, so we can discuss at the end? We could start a Woman Who Talked Too Much book group.