In this post, I'd like to formally apologise for reaching 43 summers before reading Kingsley Amis' Lucky Jim.
Christopher Hitchens is right, it is the finest comic novel of the 2nd half of the the 20th century; but not as right as some bloke called Toby Young, who chucks in the first half as well.
As I wipe away remaining hysterical tears from the 'Merrie England' public lecture scene, I furthermore issue a general statement of regret to several friends and colleagues, on whom I have urged David Lodge, or Malcolm Bradbury, as the finest exemplars of the campus novel; without mentioning the Master. Was any ill-informed lit critic ever so blind!
Finally, oh fickle Lords of memory, please let the requisite time of forgetting pass quickly, so I can read it again.
Showing posts with label Ill-informed Lit Crit. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ill-informed Lit Crit. Show all posts
Sunday, 28 August 2011
Monday, 22 November 2010
Caravelserai!
Yes, as part of my new seaborne web diary series, I'll be coming up with a new lameass compound pun every week. Stay tuned for more dubious segues from early Portuguese colonialism in Asia to my new obsessions with contemporary vids and books.
So, as you may know, I left Fort Solor and, glimpsing our fort of Lifau off the port side, headed southward. What books are currently on O Capitão's shelf, I hear you cry? Well might you ask. Once I'm done with Goodbye to all that, the following are in store for me.
Comments, and suggestions for first tract off the rack welcome. And any I really shouldn't waste time on too.
* signals considerable anticipatory excitement from me, based on authors previous work
** signals added anticipatory excitement from me, based on authors previous work AND known connection with early Portuguese voyages to Asia.
So, as you may know, I left Fort Solor and, glimpsing our fort of Lifau off the port side, headed southward. What books are currently on O Capitão's shelf, I hear you cry? Well might you ask. Once I'm done with Goodbye to all that, the following are in store for me.
Comments, and suggestions for first tract off the rack welcome. And any I really shouldn't waste time on too.
* signals considerable anticipatory excitement from me, based on authors previous work
** signals added anticipatory excitement from me, based on authors previous work AND known connection with early Portuguese voyages to Asia.
- Roberto Bolano: 2066*, Amulet, The Skating Rink
- David Sedaris: When you are engulfed in flames
- Alberto Moravia: Contempt
- Augusten Burroughs: Dry
- Irene Nemirovsky: David Golder
- Boyd Oxlade: Death in Brunswick
- Jose Saramago: The Elephant's Journey**
- JD Salinger: Franny and Zooey*
Saturday, 19 June 2010
Flags at half-mast
This evening, it was my sad duty was to lower the fort flag.
Jose Saramago, Nobel laureate - and for us here at BmL - the greatest author of the last thirty years, has died.
Vale Saramago - para nós, o maior escritor dos ultimos 30 anos.
Nós voce saúdam.Return to us in dreams, companheiro
Sunday, 1 March 2009
The Slap
So, I fairly chewed through Christos Tsiolkas' The Slap - which in itself is a good sign. I don't know about you, but I tend to .... dawdle ... when I'm not enjoying a book.
Tsiolkas writes about modern Australia, kids, parenting, intern-generational misunderstandings, culture shifts, especially in migrant communities. Wow, that's like, relevant n' shit to my life, and I could relate. Its not rocket science really is it? I don't mean to belittle his achievements by saying that - but it has to be said that not every modern Australian author gets this wee marketing trick. Importantly, I feel, he doesn't take the the modern obsessions with work and parenting as some sort of given, but as a culture to be written about.
Plus, as its happens, I live in the suburb in which it is primarily set.
Anyway, I liked it. That said, I do believe the chapters are of varying quality, depending on how far the author is from the characters themselves. In my humble and ill-informed opinion, the three chapters on the Greek-Australian male characters are absolute masterpieces of contemporary Australian writing.
The chapter on the older character Manoli I found especially moving. Growing up as a lad in West End, Brisbane, my best friends were Greek-Aussie kids. I always found their parents utterly mystifying, actually. I could never get a slightest bead on where they were coming from, with anything really. Nor did I understand the deep political splits within Greek Australia either, until I was older, and worked out that the first-generation socialists and royalists truly hated each others guts - and that was why there were three Greek clubs in West End (one for each faction, and then the "Greek club" - where the rule was you couldn't talk politics). The Manoli chapter had me right back in the Kokoris household - with an inkling of what my friends' parents must have been thinking the whole time. Thanks for that, Christos T - it actually meant a lot to this Skip to revisit all that through your eyes.
That said, I have some minor quibbles. To be honest, I'm not sure the female character chapters work as well - and maybe that's about the author's distance from those characters. Secondly, I found the Hugo character a bit exaggerated. He's like the worst 10 behaviours you've ever seen from any 4 year old rolled into one 'strawboy' character. This has the unfortunate side-effect of prompting something of a "moral panic" style inquisition of modern parenting which is - frankly - hyperbolic. I might move in certain circles, etc, but I find modern parents far more reflexive, ironic, and plain disciplinarian than Tsiolkas allows for the purposes of this book. But what the hay - inflating the issue allows him to investigate a theme that is without doubt interesting and engaging. Good writers should be agents provocateurs, no?
Tsiolkas writes about modern Australia, kids, parenting, intern-generational misunderstandings, culture shifts, especially in migrant communities. Wow, that's like, relevant n' shit to my life, and I could relate. Its not rocket science really is it? I don't mean to belittle his achievements by saying that - but it has to be said that not every modern Australian author gets this wee marketing trick. Importantly, I feel, he doesn't take the the modern obsessions with work and parenting as some sort of given, but as a culture to be written about.
Plus, as its happens, I live in the suburb in which it is primarily set.
Anyway, I liked it. That said, I do believe the chapters are of varying quality, depending on how far the author is from the characters themselves. In my humble and ill-informed opinion, the three chapters on the Greek-Australian male characters are absolute masterpieces of contemporary Australian writing.
The chapter on the older character Manoli I found especially moving. Growing up as a lad in West End, Brisbane, my best friends were Greek-Aussie kids. I always found their parents utterly mystifying, actually. I could never get a slightest bead on where they were coming from, with anything really. Nor did I understand the deep political splits within Greek Australia either, until I was older, and worked out that the first-generation socialists and royalists truly hated each others guts - and that was why there were three Greek clubs in West End (one for each faction, and then the "Greek club" - where the rule was you couldn't talk politics). The Manoli chapter had me right back in the Kokoris household - with an inkling of what my friends' parents must have been thinking the whole time. Thanks for that, Christos T - it actually meant a lot to this Skip to revisit all that through your eyes.
That said, I have some minor quibbles. To be honest, I'm not sure the female character chapters work as well - and maybe that's about the author's distance from those characters. Secondly, I found the Hugo character a bit exaggerated. He's like the worst 10 behaviours you've ever seen from any 4 year old rolled into one 'strawboy' character. This has the unfortunate side-effect of prompting something of a "moral panic" style inquisition of modern parenting which is - frankly - hyperbolic. I might move in certain circles, etc, but I find modern parents far more reflexive, ironic, and plain disciplinarian than Tsiolkas allows for the purposes of this book. But what the hay - inflating the issue allows him to investigate a theme that is without doubt interesting and engaging. Good writers should be agents provocateurs, no?
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