Category: Book Prizes

 Shortlisted for 2012 Booker Prize

Five words from the blurb: villa, family, darkness, France, depression

Swimming Home is a simple story with complex undercurrents. It is set in a French villa where two couples are sharing a holiday together. The book opens with them discovering a naked woman in their swimming pool. The woman claims to have rented the villa too and after a discussion about the mix up they agree to let her stay, leading to the classic “stranger in the house” narrative.

My main problem with the book was that I couldn’t engage with any of the characters. They weren’t described in sufficient detail for me to be able to picture them and there seemed to be too many for this short book. It is described as a dark, disturbing tale, but I was so distanced from events that I didn’t care when something distressing occurred and had no empathy for any of the characters, no matter how bad their problems were.

Much of the book deals with depression, but I felt that it kept sidestepping the issues and I never gained any real insight into the situation.

The women feeding their children with long silver teaspoons glanced curiously at the silent brooding woman with bare shoulders. Like the waiter, they seemed offended by her solitude. She had to tell him twice she was not expecting anyone to join her. When he slammed her espresso on the empty table set for two, most of it spilled onto the saucer.

The writing was good, with some wonderfully observed metaphors and many vivid descriptions, but there was no forward momentum and I frequently found myself losing interest. Another frustration was that the entire book was based around a poem, one which the reader never sees.

An introduction by Tom McCarthy states that Deborah Levy has:

…..read her Lacan and Deleuze, her Barthes, Marguerite Dura, Gertrude Stein, and Ballard, not to mention Kafka and Robbe-Grillet – and was putting all these characters to work in new, exhilarating ways.

Unfortunately I haven’t read many books by these authors and so am clearly missing out on all the parallels. As a book on its own Swimming Home is quite dull, but if you take it as a reflection on the literature of the last hundred years, it is probably genius.

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The thoughts of other bloggers:

Dark, dangerous and unknowable, this novel, like the pool at its centre with its covering of fallen leaves has hidden depths and dangers that might just make it the dark horse on this year’s Booker list. Just William’s Luck

…the barely-there plot is rather dull but the story is intriguing and compelling. Reading Matters

Short yet dense, this delicate novel is a tense and edgy read whose poignant ending leaves its readers unnerved. The Unlikely Bookworm

 Shortlisted for 2012 Booker Prize

Five words from the blurb: people, victims, patient, truth, dense

Will Self is an author I’ve wanted to try for a long time and so I was quite pleased that the Booker Prize encouraged me to pick up one of his books. Unfortunately Umbrella didn’t work for me and I wonder if I’d have been better off starting with another one of his books?

Umbrella spans an entire century – following a feminist in 1918, her treatment with a psychiatrist in 1971, and the reflections of the psychiatrist in 2010.

The book is written in a stream of consciousness writing style (something I often struggle with) but I found this book particularly difficult to engage with. The thoughts meandered all over the place and I failed to find a hook to keep me interested.

Try as she might to prevent herself, Audrey has asked him whether their relation is physical – although he disdains the idea: Venetia? M’dear, she’s a baby, she’s shwaddled in the eternal childishness of wealth, shponged and pampered by her nursing maids and wet nurshed at houshe parties….That may be so, yet for Audrey the closeness between the society lady and the  socialist is insupportable, especially here, where a portrait photograph of her attired as Diana the Huntress stares down from a nearby whatnot…it’s the umbrellas. Aha, the umbrellash, the fruitish of your labourish…….She counters: I don’t make umbrellas, Gilbert, or brollies, or garden tents, or portable pavilions for the bloomin’ beach – I’m a typewriter, I make words.

The writing was outstanding, with beautiful phrases sprinkled throughout the text, but finding them was hard work. There were also a substantial number of obscure words – something made all the more infuriating by the fact that half of them appear to have been invented by the author. It took extreme concentration to make it through each page and after 2 hours of this torture (75 pages) I decided I couldn’t endure any more and abandoned it.

If you enjoy a stream of consciousness writing style and like to concentrate on symbolism and the beauty of individual phrases then I’m sure you’ll enjoy this, but I prefer books that are more engaging.

Have you read anything written by Will Self?

Are all his books written in a steam-of-consciousness writing style?

Do you think I’d enjoy any of his other books?

 Shortlisted for the 2012 Booker Prize

Five words from the blurb: man, Germany, guest house, mother, lonely

The Lighthouse is a short book with wonderful imagery, but I can’t decide whether or not it works. It is one of those strange books that balances on the thin line between genius and madness. I’m still thinking about it many days after finishing, so I’m going to give it the benefit of the doubt.

The book follows Futh, a middle-aged man who recently separated from his wife, as he heads off on a walking holiday in Germany. He arrives at a German guest house cleverly (?) called “Hellhaus” (which translates as lighthouse). The book is then narrated alternately by Ester, the owner of the guest house, and Futh. The story itself is very simple, mainly involving themes of loneliness and belonging. Revealing anything else about the plot would ruin the magic that may/may not be there.

I can’t really fault the writing – it was powerful, with a wonderfully claustrophobic sense of foreboding.  Each scene was described in a detail that some people might find excessive, but I loved the way it indulged all the senses – especially the inclusion of smells, which are so often ignored in novels.

My main problem with the book was that the symbolism was heavy handed. There was no subtlety and I felt as though I was being beaten over the head by the continual reference to lighthouses.

He talked about flash patterns. ‘The light,’ he said, gazing fixedly at the hazy horizon, ‘flashes every three seconds and can be seen from thirty miles away. In the fog, the foghorn is used.’ And Futh, looking at the lighthouse, wondered how this could happen – how there could be this constant warning of danger, the taking of all these precautions, and yet still there was all this wreckage.

Repeated mentions of camphor and violets also started to grate after a while. 

The ending was bizarre. I was initially disappointed that it seemed to end mid-scene, but on reflection I’m beginning to think it was quite clever. My only problem was that I’m not entirely sure what the book was trying to achieve. The excessive symbolism of earlier sections made me think I was missing some deeper meaning. My confusion and conflicting emotions make this a perfect choice for a book club – I’d love to discuss the issues in the hope that other people might enlighten me.

This is a strange little book with a lot to recommend it. I can’t see it winning the Booker Prize, but its originality makes it one of the most memorable reads of the year.

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The thoughts of other bloggers:

There’s a power to the amount of detail that Moore manages to pack into under 200 pages… Alex in Leeds

…it falls just inches shy of its aspiration to be something truly special because of a rather jarring ending which sadly feels a bit rushed, if not plain underdeveloped. Opinionless

I can’t begin to say what an incredible book this is; I loved it so much I bought extra copies to share with friends 2012: The Year in Books