October 10, 2006
Review: Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell by Susanna Clarke ::
books — tagged alternate history, books, fantasy, magic and susanna clarke
9:28 am
Some books launch a thousand other media projects, and Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell is one of those books. Since Jonathan Strange’s release in September, 2004, there has been a fan club, a movie deal, and a second book of stories by Susanna Clarke, which is scheduled for release in, hey, just a few days now. Coming in at just about 800 pages, Jonathan Strange deserves much of the acclaim it has received. But on the other hand, for all its density, imagination, intricate, interrlated subplots and characters, the book lacked an real sense of deep character, authentic emotion or social commentary that would otherwise connect a reader to what was happening in the story. So ultimately, while the book was a great read, it was not, unfortunately, a truly great novel.
So, for the unitiated, here’s the background: Mr Norrell is an old curmudgeon of a magician, whiling away his early 19th Century life of privilege in his library at a creepy old abbey, where he practices magic and shares it with no one. Then one day a society of non-practicing magicians (called “theoretical magicians” in the book) discover Mr. Norrell, and are astounded by his abilities. Soon Mr. Norrell moves his project to London, where he hopes to aid the British government in the Napoleonic Wars. He finds some success through his efforts, and eventually gains the patronage of a government minister after raising the minister’s bride-to-be from the dead. Then one day a second practical magician, (you guessed it) Jonathan Strange comes in. Though odd-looking, he is everything Mr. Norrell isn’t—young, dashing, open about his abilities and, much to Norrell’s consternation, very liberal about exposing the general public to magical knowledge. Mr. Norrell takes Strange on as a pupil, and it is clear early on that Strange’s abilities far outpace his teacher’s. The ensuing tension between the two heroes becomes the fundamental plot dynamic for the rest of the book, and at that point we’re only about a third of the way through it. So needless to say, we have a long way to go, so there should be something worthwhile to fill up those pages.
And as I mentioned already, there is quite a bit to fill up those pages. The book is impeccably well-thought out, and there are some truly excellent references to historical figures. Those fine touches give the reader an odd feeling, like you’re watching the Clarke’s alternate history brush up against our own and, like a character in Jonathan Strange who might at one point stumble across one of the Fairy Roads, you get the feeling that you’ve found something that had always been there, hidden in plain sight. But at the end of it all, none of the characters really stand out or distinguish themselves. Rather, they all use much of the same stock language to describe a set of very simple, almost juvenile emotions (e.g., he was sad when his new wife died, frustrated when the spell didn’t work, fearful of the growing cloud of ravens coming his way, etc.). So you don’t see emotion, you just have to take the characters at their word that they’re feeling something. Maybe that’s the author’s point, but if it is, I’m not exactly clear on what she might be getting at, or why emotional flatness is so significant.
I’m maybe being a little too tough on Susanna Clarke. I should temper my criticisms with the reality that there is no chance I could ever pull off a book like this, even if given the rest of my life to try. At the end of those nearly 800 pages, Jonathan Strange was a big, complicated book, but it was also clearly a first book, and one that misses many of the nuances that it takes time to both see and express as an author. It will be interesting to see where Susanna Clarke goes from here. And like I mentioned already, we’ll find out when her new book comes out on October 16th.
September 1, 2006
Fortress of Solitude by Jonathan Lethem ::
books — tagged books, brooklyn, childhood, drugs, fantasy and vermont
3:13 pm
I am falling behind on my book reviews. But I hope to get caught up in the next few days.
Fortress of Solitude was one of those books I felt like I was reading for weeks, but when I look back on it, it only took me four days to read the book. This was partly because I was reading it while I was travelling out to San Francisco; but mostly, it was because of the density of the story and Lethem’s abilty to really grip the reader with a compelling narrative and realistic, complex characters that defy the stereotypes found in most novels.
Fortress of Solitude follows the life of Dylan Ebdus and his friend Mingus Rude as they grow up in pre-gentrified, 1970’s Brooklyn. Starting from when Dylan was five, we follow him as he grows into adolescence and then into adulthood. And while there are elements of the fantastical (Lethem has been given to such narrative devices going all the way back to his Hard Boiled/Sci-Fi mash-up romp, Gun with Occasional Music), the story line is compelling not so much because of the extraordinary events within it, but because of Lethem’s finely-tuned ability to take what seems to be the ordinary events in everyday life—a mother leaving her husband and son or a kid shaken down for his lunch money—and rendering them in such a way that reveals their emotional spiritual, and artistic signficance. We see Dylan as a child, going to an almost all African-American elementary school; see him fall in love with comic books, then R & B music, then the New York Punk Rock/New Wave scene; we see him become enamored of the 1980’s drug scene, first in New York and then at college in Vermont; we see him succeed academically, almost always against his will. We find Dylan’s childhood is so wrapped up in conflict and so spiritually exhausting that it becomes almost like an addiction, to the point that, when Dylan is an adult and he no can no longer rely on all of the sadness, fear and anger of his childhood that he is left feeling, well empty. And with all that, I found myself reading on, dying to know how, as a 35-year-old, he was going to fill the void. And if you want to find out how, you just have to read the book yourself.
Every novelist—or at least every male novelist—seems to have some obligation, or maybe a compulsion, to write a coming-of-age tale that is in fact a thinly-vieled autobiography. Some novelists are better than others at telling a story that is in fact worth reading. With Fortress of Solitude, Lethem definitely falls into the “better” category. Whether my conclusion is based on the broad appeal of Lethem’s story telling abilities or just my identifying with much of what he values and finds emotionally substantial isn’t exactly clear to me. But at the end of the story, I felt close to the adult Dylan Ebdus, and for all his flaws wanted him as a friend. So the reasons don’t really matter, I think. And more importantly, I really can’t think of a better compliment for an author’s abilities.
