Train Dreams - not compatible with Come Dine With Me

Train Dreams by Denis Johnson (Granta Books: 2012). The story of a labourer in the American mid-west at the turn of the twentieth century. He leads a simple, happy life until tragedy strikes, and he recoils into an even simpler way of life on the edges of a rapidly developing country. 

I felt bad for a few days after last week’s post. I mean, giving such a low score when at least a chunk of the blame for not enjoying the book was mine. I’m not saying I felt terrible; I’m sure Toibin will lose no sleep over it. But there was guilt there, no doubt.

So I made an effort with this next one. It’s another novella. Something that shouldn’t really take more than two or three sittings to read. So I made some time, and instead of five minute chunks here and there, I read this over a few hours. And hot dog, did it pay off.

This always had pedigree. It’s right there on the cover. “Shortlisted for the Pulitzer Prize.” That doesn’t happen by accident. It happens when a good writer is slap bang at the top of their game. It happens when an unholy amount of thought and craft has gone into a piece of work. It happens when something seemingly simple is given an indefinable, magic quality. It happens here.

Train Dreams reminded me in a pretty loud way of Steinbeck. And I’m a Steinbeck fan. I’ll tell you more about that one day (it still irks me that the one Steinbeck book on GBR is perhaps the only one of his I didn’t enjoy). But for the time being, suffice to say this book had a lot of the same qualities as Steinbeck’s best writing; a gritty American nostalgia, simple but huge characters, emotion packed between the lines like gun powder. All of that.

Not a lot really happens in this book. Well, maybe that’s not true. There are life changing events. But they’re presented in a stripped down, simple way. There’s very little quickening of pace, no dramatic crescendos. And the central protagonist is a hermit who spends most of his life living alone in the woods. I have no idea how, with such a style and with this sort of plotting, books like this don’t just end up being boring. Bad ones do I guess, but the good ones (such as this) sink you into their pages with such irresistible skill that you hoover them up, content simply to be part of this slow moving world. They have an authentic quality that entertains without needing to fall back on cliff hangers or plot twists or car chases.

And if I accept some blame for not enjoying The Testament of Mary, I’m also going to grab some credit for allowing Train Dreams to flourish. I sat and I spent time with this book. Quality reading time. And I’m fairly certain all that stuff – the magic atmosphere, the subtle emotion, the character depth – none of it would have come through in such a powerful way if I read a few pages at a time whilst Come Dine With Me is playing in the background.

8 GBR

Go get this, clear your Sunday afternoon, and enjoy. If your Sunday’s are booked up for a while though, don’t bother.

Next week, I turn back to some non-fiction (if I finish it in time). It’s pretty boozy non-fiction though, so that livens it up a little. (You’re intrigued now, right?)

Next World Novella - a sparrow of a book

Next World Novella by Matthias Politycki (Peirene Press: 2011) - A German Novella following Hinrich who suffers the loss of his wife thanks to a stroke. On going through her papers (with her still lying dead in the room) we’re treated to his internal monologue as he starts to reassess the nature of their relationship and the promises they’d made to each other about the next world.

I’ve ‘fessed up to a few things on this blog before. I’ve revealed (probably inappropriate) feelings for Matt Smith. I’ve admitted to enjoying a book written for kids (or “Young Adults” as is the preferred term). I’ve even laid open my complete inability to understand some sciencey stuff.

So time to drop another bomb. I’ve succumbed to a little tactical reading.

I had a 900-pager staring at me on my book shelf. But I knew reading it would mean not having new things to tell you lovely people about week after week. I know how you love new things. So I got down with some tactics - a few short books that I could finish quick, thus stockpiling some treats to spread over the weeks that I’m otherwise engaged with the overweight distraction.

It started last week with The Farnsworth Invention - which was aces, and short.

So this week’s little morsel is a German novella (translated of course, I can’t speak foreign). It was recommended as one of the best books of 2011 by some article I happened on in the Guardian (I like to read what the hippies are thinking sometimes).

I think the biggest indictment on this book is that I’m struggling to work out what to say about it. Yeah, it was nice enough. It had a few interesting twitches to keep you engaged. It explored a perspective and a character that was, if not unique, then certainly pretty rare. It was quirky and it created a distinct atmosphere diligently and with consistency.

The novella’s greatest attribute is Hinrich, the protagonist, and the portrayal of his shifting emotions. It is done expertly, allowing us to go through the spectrum with him without ever feeling contrived. Hinrich comes off as a bit of a ridiculous man, but believable all the same.



But it lacked a bit of explosion. And by that, I don’t mean action. I mean that moment or quality in a book that hits home, that makes it into more than just words on a page. It could be a quiet raw emotion, or a thread of effective comedy, or a stunning backdrop faithfully explored. It could be (and has been) any number of things. But I didn’t find any of them here unfortunately.



A fat sparrow. Because fat animals are funnier
 than normal sized ones, obvs

If this book was a bird, it would probably be a sparrow. (Stay with me on this one, it’ll make sense, I promise). Perfectly viable as a bird, the sparrow. It’s got all the right parts, and has a few tricks up its sleeve (wing) that the other birds don’t (I assume). You could find beauty in it if you really studied it, really put some effort into some dramatic nature photography, but it’d be hard work. It doesn’t have any of the more overt majesty of a golden eagle, or the obvious comedy of a flamingo. People don’t trudge out into the wilderness in waterproofs or safari gear to catch a glimpse of a sparrow. They want rarity and excitement and beauty - which are the same things I want when I read.

But sometimes, all you get is a sparrow.

6 GBR

Perfectly pleasant. But nothing more.

Next week, finally that graphic novel I’ve been promising you. And a proper one this time. I daren’t leave myself open to the criticism I got after the last graphic novel review, where I satisfied myself with the first one I found in Waterstone’s.

The Lesson of the Master – The perfect antidote to too many long books

The Lesson of the Master by Henry James (Melville House 2004 – first published in Universal Review, 1888). A novella from the Victorian New Yorker, in which he follows the course of a young writer grappling with what he needs to give up to fulfil his artistic talent.

Novellas are great, though I still stumble whenever I need to say the word, in the same way it took me a couple of years to be comfortable saying the word “latte” in a coffee shop. It just sounds too dainty whenever I say it, and is always followed by a couple of seconds of silence in which I fully expect anyone that’s overheard me to giggle a little at my awkwardness with such a fragile word.

But, nevertheless, I do like novellas (just as I like lattes). And after one or two long books, I was looking forward to something shorter. Not quite the quick fix of a short story, but something that I could read over a weekend and feel good about.

In The Lesson of the Master, I found something that fit the bill. I’d never read any Henry James before, but he’s one of the long list of writers I felt I should at least give a try at some stage, and this short book seemed the perfect introduction.

The trick with novellas, it seems, is to pick a topic that has enough weight to deserve its own book, but perhaps not enough depth to command attention throughout an entire novel. The topic Henry James picked for this novella is the sacrifices an artist needs to make to create something perfect. He gives the theme a setting in the experiences of a promising young novelist, and an ageing one that refused to make those sacrifices.

It works well. The first two thirds of the book canter along quite gently, but they act to set up the climactic scene where, late one night in his opulent home, the elderly writer explains what lies ahead if his younger protégé is serious about creating something worthy of his talents.

I won’t go into the storyline anymore than that. This blog isn’t about telling you what happens in a book. I’d prefer to tell you what’s good/bad/average about it rather than give away entire plots, robbing you of the fun of finding out for yourself. Suffice to say that James treats the theme at hand with a great deal of insight, and you can certainly imagine him facing the same dilemmas in his own writing career.

I felt better for having read this book. And that’s enough for me to recommend it. It’s a quick read, but one that leaves you thinking seriously about the issues it raises. You’ll agree with some of what James puts across, and disagree with parts as well. You’ll feel sympathy for the main character, and you’ll feel conflicted about “the master.”

But most importantly, you’ll feel stimulated by it without having to plough through 800 pages of masterpiece. So another high score...

8 GBR

That’s two high ones in a row. I need to read something bad next, else you’ll think I’m far too generous...