Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell
So, as part of my New Year's Resolution to read more fiction, not to mention the fact that it was one of my Christmas presents, I've just finished Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell by Susanna Clarke.
On finishing that door-stop sized novel, I've immediately embarked on my next: Pattern Recognition by William Gibson. On the face of it, it's hard to imagine two more dissimilar books; certainly in terms of prose style they're at opposite poles. One is an elaborate pastiche of the slightly "arch" narrative voice of 19th Century novels, and the other is so cutting edge it appears to be a set of shorthand notes that may one day get written up into actual prose. ;-) What the two novels share in common however is an incredibly specific sense of time and place: England in the 19th and 21st Centuries, respectively. Indeed, I think time and place are so fundamental to both books that they're part of the fabric of the story.
Back to Jonathan Strange, since I haven't finished the Gibson. The narrative voice is the first thing that strikes you about the book, since it's a spot on recreation of the style of early novelists, right down to the long-winded, slightly formal prose, archaic spellings, and a tendency for the author to offer her own opinions and get diverted into rambling footnotes and asides. I studied a number of early novels in my various English courses, so this all seemed worryingly familiar.
At first I wasn't sure that this style was going to work for an entire modern novel, especially since the early part of the book - in which a variety of fussy old men are thwarted at every turn in actually accomplishing anything - threatened to devolve into a comedy of manners rather than an actual fantasy novel. When something magical happened I greeted it with some relief. I needn't have worried, because the narrative voice is actually very engaging. Even when the characters are at their most obstinate and unlikeable, the good-humoured fondness of the author helps the novel immensely. At various points she even manages to sound like she's rolling her eyes, which is no mean feat. As a result, the characters emerge as extremely well rounded people: sometimes annoying, often amusing, occasionally noble.
The book itself is also quite rambling, although ultimately surprisingly well-plotted. I would actually argue that the rambling nature of the book is crucial to its appeal. The numerous lengthy footnotes (many of them miniature stories in their own right) are part of the way that the novel creates a sense of rich and deep cultural history. The novel is in many ways a Tolkienesque attempt to create a mythological history for England, full of Fairies, rolling moors, dark woods, magicians, kings and magic. Although much of the history is fictional, it's still very believable, and for me at least it succeeded in capturing an essential quality of Englishness. It's all the more effective because the very genteel society in which the protagonists live seems to sit on the surface of a deep pool of something much darker and more archetypal. The juxtaposition is very nice.
I'm at a loss to say too much more about the novel, because there's just so much of it, and I'm out of the habit of reviewing books. The story meanders at times, but it also gathers pace as it goes along, becoming epic as well as domestic, and the conclusion is very satisfying. I can understand why Neil Gaiman writes so glowingly about it on the back cover, because it reminds me of something he might have written, falling somewhere between the Englishness of Stardust and the complex meandering of American Gods, peppered with side-stories. It's imaginative, original and in its fusion of so many different ideas and stories it emerges as just about unique.
In conclusion I enjoyed the book a great deal, despite it being extremely long and wrist-achingly heavy - which must be some kind of a recommendation...
On finishing that door-stop sized novel, I've immediately embarked on my next: Pattern Recognition by William Gibson. On the face of it, it's hard to imagine two more dissimilar books; certainly in terms of prose style they're at opposite poles. One is an elaborate pastiche of the slightly "arch" narrative voice of 19th Century novels, and the other is so cutting edge it appears to be a set of shorthand notes that may one day get written up into actual prose. ;-) What the two novels share in common however is an incredibly specific sense of time and place: England in the 19th and 21st Centuries, respectively. Indeed, I think time and place are so fundamental to both books that they're part of the fabric of the story.
Back to Jonathan Strange, since I haven't finished the Gibson. The narrative voice is the first thing that strikes you about the book, since it's a spot on recreation of the style of early novelists, right down to the long-winded, slightly formal prose, archaic spellings, and a tendency for the author to offer her own opinions and get diverted into rambling footnotes and asides. I studied a number of early novels in my various English courses, so this all seemed worryingly familiar.
At first I wasn't sure that this style was going to work for an entire modern novel, especially since the early part of the book - in which a variety of fussy old men are thwarted at every turn in actually accomplishing anything - threatened to devolve into a comedy of manners rather than an actual fantasy novel. When something magical happened I greeted it with some relief. I needn't have worried, because the narrative voice is actually very engaging. Even when the characters are at their most obstinate and unlikeable, the good-humoured fondness of the author helps the novel immensely. At various points she even manages to sound like she's rolling her eyes, which is no mean feat. As a result, the characters emerge as extremely well rounded people: sometimes annoying, often amusing, occasionally noble.
The book itself is also quite rambling, although ultimately surprisingly well-plotted. I would actually argue that the rambling nature of the book is crucial to its appeal. The numerous lengthy footnotes (many of them miniature stories in their own right) are part of the way that the novel creates a sense of rich and deep cultural history. The novel is in many ways a Tolkienesque attempt to create a mythological history for England, full of Fairies, rolling moors, dark woods, magicians, kings and magic. Although much of the history is fictional, it's still very believable, and for me at least it succeeded in capturing an essential quality of Englishness. It's all the more effective because the very genteel society in which the protagonists live seems to sit on the surface of a deep pool of something much darker and more archetypal. The juxtaposition is very nice.
I'm at a loss to say too much more about the novel, because there's just so much of it, and I'm out of the habit of reviewing books. The story meanders at times, but it also gathers pace as it goes along, becoming epic as well as domestic, and the conclusion is very satisfying. I can understand why Neil Gaiman writes so glowingly about it on the back cover, because it reminds me of something he might have written, falling somewhere between the Englishness of Stardust and the complex meandering of American Gods, peppered with side-stories. It's imaginative, original and in its fusion of so many different ideas and stories it emerges as just about unique.
In conclusion I enjoyed the book a great deal, despite it being extremely long and wrist-achingly heavy - which must be some kind of a recommendation...