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Modern Book Review: “Bright Young Things” by Scarlett Thomas (2001)

Bright Young Things is the high concept story of a group of young people who respond to an ad for “bright young things” who are wanted “for a big project”, and who all mysteriously wake up in a house on a remote island, with no recollection as to how, or why, they are there.

In Part One we are introduced to the characters one by one. They are – Anne, a girl of a nervous disposition with a sheltered life and not sure of what to do next in life; Jamie, a mathematician who is haunted by numbers and looking for his next challenge (What’s the square root of everything? Nothing.”; Thea, who works in a nursing home and is also become tired with her lot in life; Bryn, a petty drug dealer who does freelance photography; Emily, a “bright young thing” who is conventionally attractive and ends up working for an escort agency; Paul, a vegetarian workaholic who is on the verge of quitting, and for the sheer thrill, is planning on releasing a virus in the near future.

A little is said about how each person came to the point of travelling all the way to Edinburgh for an interview for a job about which they know nothing. At least on the surface, they seem to have little in common, which makes their discovering themselves trapped together in the middle of nowhere all the more bewildering.

Of course, their first instinct is to wonder what could possibly have happened to them, the general consensus being that the interview people drugged them, for whatever reason, and dropped them off here. But as they explore, the house is well stocked with supplies and a sign saying “PLEASE. MAKE YOURSELVES AT HOME”.

However, it is not long until it becomes apparent that, rather than trying to escape immediately, the young people start talking about all the various things they’re into when it comes to “pop culture” (taking place in 1999, many of the pop culture references will perhaps be lost on people of a similar age today). Some – Thea particularly – object to resorting to discussing lowbrow entertainment such as pop music and soap operas, and being sarcastic all the time – indeed most of the time, being ironic is more important than being genuine – but with otherwise such contrasting backgrounds, the “bonding” effect of their conversation is surprising.

The superficiality of their conversation – discussing soap plots for pages at a time – is potentially off-putting, but as the “bonding” goes on into their first night there, the superficial eventually leads into the meaningful, with deep and dark secrets coming out into the open, mostly with the help of a drunken game of “Truth or Dare”.

Events soon take a drastic sinister turn, when they decide to call it a night and stumble back to their beds; one of them goes exploring in the attic and there finds a dead body; someone who, presumably only died a short time ago, and who must have brought them all there in the first place. It is only at this point in the story that they all seriously contemplate how to make an escape, and after a few of them have varying degrees of breakdown, along with more soul-searching, they eventually hatch a plan to build a boat and send the dead body away with a note asking for their rescue. After that, their future is, seemingly, left entirely up to fate.

Bright Young Things is largely built upon inner dialogue, where each character contemplates what’s going on, and outer dialogue, which is itself built largely upon the pop culture – and the trend for self-conscious affectation – of the time. The author, Scarlett Thomas, alludes to this in the introduction, saying that “The characters in Bright Young Things don’t know they are in a book, but they do know that they are in a story”.

Basically, the whole unlikely scenario the young people find themselves in is dealt with by treating it like a random occurrence in everyday life, which each character treats like a “story”. Even if many of the references now seem out of date, its use in aiding the “story” of the young people in this bizarre situation seems more appropriate.

Simply substitute any pop culture reference in the story for a more up-to-date one, and the same idea will still apply; this story can be seen as a satire of modern culture, or simply a survival story, most likely, it is probably meant to be both at the same time.

Book Review: The Mystery of Mercy Close, by Marian Keyes

I am, without a doubt, what can only be described as a die hard Marian Keyes fan.

I have read all of her books multiple times. She is one of a very few authors seen to be in the ‘Chic Lit’ genre I can abide (Jane Green is the only other consistent one). As a result of this, I was more than a little astonished when The Mystery of Mercy Close received such mixed reviews upon release. It came out in hardback first, which meant I had to wait, as all my other Keyes books are in paperback and I cannot tolerate mismatched books. Consequently, by the time I read it myself I was a little apprehensive, horribly worried that one of my favourite authors was slipping.

I’m happy to say that my concerns were completely and utterly groundless. The Mystery of Mercy Close is now by far one of my favourite Keyes books to date, and believe me that takes some doing. It ranks up there with Anybody Out There, and Angels; it has supplanted Lucy Sullivan is Getting Married as my number three. The reason for this is very simple, and is of course the reason I love Keyes so very much: this book is so painfully real.

Following Helen Walsh, the youngest of the Walsh clan and the last daughter of Keyes’ enigmatic, signature family to be given a book of her own, the narrative folds Helen’s money worries, as she struggles as a Private Investigator in the midst of Ireland’s recession, with how she, her friends, and her family handle her bouts of depression, and of course, with the mystery of the eponymous Mercy Close, home of Wayne Diffney, missing member of the fictitious Irish Boy Band, Ladz. At first, you wonder how all this will possibly fit together, but it does, if not quite in the absolutely seamless style to which Keyes fans will be accustomed, certainly in a manner that far surpasses anything a lesser author could pull off, if trying to write this book.

There is the feeling that the two main aspects of the plot—Wayne Diffney’s disappearance and Helen’s depression—clash slightly, and never quite gel in one perfectly plotted book. The book, however, is the better for this fact. Anyone who has suffered depression, or anything similar, will know the devastating effect it has, not only on your life, but also on your capacity to think. Things that used to make sense no longer do. Pieces of your life don’t fit together anymore, and you find yourself wondering how you can possibly be the person everyone is saying you have been for the last lifetime. In this sense, the novel itself is depressed. It doesn’t quite understand how its separate parts are supposed to function as a united whole. That is not to say, in any way, that it isn’t a brilliantly written novel. It is. However, the pervading opinion in many reviews that this ‘isn’t her best’ appears to be based on the misapprehension that this oddity in style is not completely purposeful, and reflective of the deeper meaning of the book.

As always with Keyes, the plot revolves around characters who are drawn to perfection, the dialogue is both pithy and at times hilarious, and quirks that can only be described as Marianisms about; as with the dreaded ‘Feathery Strokers’ of Rachel’s Holiday, Helen has her own hilarious perspectives and idioms (the most wonderful of which is, without a doubt, the Shovel List). It’s a well paced read, and vanishes in no time, and while it has moments of extreme seriousness and others of total heartbreak, it is also – thanks to the enigma of Helen Walsh – hilariously funny. Genuinely, completely, laugh out loud, borderline-hysterics, funny.

If it has one fault, it is that the Mystery is not as mysterious as it seems. The whereabouts of Diffney is obvious within a few pages, however the nature of the book is such that you actually forget you thought of the answer, as soon as the notion forms; right up to the end, you’re vacillating between one of about four or five possibilities, and just as you think you’re certain you’re right, something else happens that swings you in another direction. So, while the ultimate solution is (in hindsight) very obvious, the journey to it is exceptionally enjoyable.

It’s no secret that Keyes herself suffered a horrendous bout of prolonged depression, between her last fictional release, The Brightest Star in the Sky, and Mercy Close. What is startling however, is reading interviews she has given, and then reading this novel, for you realise that she has literally poured her own experiences into it. She has not simply drawn on the feelings she had, she has recounted life events on the page. Hideous, traumatic, and very personal life events.

Keyes’ desire to share her experiences is heroic. There are parts that can’t have been easy to write, and for many it won’t be easy to read, and this, surely, is another reason for the mixed reviews Mercy Close received. The majority of this book is not ‘feel good’, unlike Keyes’ other offerings which, while always having serious elements, are enjoyable to read the majority of the time. This book, however, is not meant to make people feel good. It is meant to raise awareness, and give people a real, genuine look inside the mind of a person who, for a while, isn’t quite thinking like themselves, or anyone else for that matter. Uncomfortable, perhaps, but necessary, if only so that those who have never experienced depression come to understand that ‘everyone feels down sometimes’ is a perfectly legitimate statement, but has nothing whatsoever to do with depression.

Book Review: The Year of the Food, by Margaret Atwood

You would think that having written so many post-apocalyptic novels over the years, Margaret Atwood’s offerings would have become stale, dull, or at the very least a little repetitive.

Not so.

At once a complex and simple tale of survival at the end of the world, her latest novel is The Year of the Flood, the sequel to the stunning Oryx and Crake.

Ren is an upmarket sex worker, trapped in her place of work.

Toby is a tired member of The Gardeners, a odd, underground, eco-warrior movement which predicted the man-made plague that has all but eradicated human life on the planet.

With peculiar animals created from gene-splicing and human meddling running amok, a growing concern over food, and the ever present question in each woman’s mind of whether they are, in fact, the only human alive on the planet, both tell their own tale of how they came to be where they were when the ‘waterless flood’ hit.

This is not a novel for easy reading, when you can’t really be bothered to pay too much attention to what is going on, and you don’t mind so much if there isn’t much of a plot, as long as it’s a fun read. This is the sort of novel you pick up and literally can’t put down until you know what happens. Atwood, as always, delivers perfect prose and gritty, yet sympathetic characters, who show us all too clearly how easy it would be to end up in a similar situation. From the Ren’s childhood memories of her best friend Amanda, to her more recent musings of life as a dancer in the fully-condoned sex trade, we see a vulnerable and somewhat tragic character, whose only real ambition in life has been to have a place where she belonged. Toby, on the other hand, has a hardness about her, a stubbornness, which allows her to survive as she has, and yet she also possesses – as we see from her earlier life – a similar vulnerability to Ren, and an unfulfilled craving for love.

These are two wonderfully drawn women, in a bizarre world that is falling apart, where morals and standards were turned upside down long before the plague wiped out most of the human population, and the survivors scrabbling for avoid death. As always with Atwood, it is difficult to read this and come away from it having simply read a good novel. Rather, you come away pondering, and continue to do so for some time to come, finding events from the book popping back into your head at strange times, and leaving you considering things you otherwise might never have thought to mull over.

Undoubtedly another splendid achievement for Atwood, leaving us in eager anticipation of MaddAddam’s release in August of this year, The Year of the Flood is a quirky and unique take on the possible fate of man, and the dangers of interfering with nature.

Book Review: Daughter of Smoke and Bone, by Laini Taylor

Like so many books published of late, Daughter of Smoke and Bone had what promised to be a wonderful premise. Pseudo-angels vs. pseudo-demons, with portals into the human world from the mysterious realm of Brimstone, the ‘Wishmonger’. A funky female protagonist, Karou, and all set in the beautiful city of Prague. Throw in a little forbidden romance and the stage is set. Karou is instantly a character with whom you wish to spend more time, if only to find out how such a peculiar human being came into existence. Karou herself has questions, not only about her life, but also about her inexplicable job as a globe-trotting trader in teeth.

Billed as Northern Lights meets Pan’s Labyrinth, this novel should be utterly spectacular.

Alas, while it started well, with complex and unique characters, and a relatively lively pace, it was soon plagued by the pit falls that have become many a book since the runaway popularity of the Twilight Saga. Clichés overtook the elements that were at first so absorbing, and it took the form of a story you have now read so many times, which you can put the book down as soon as it begins to unfold, for you already know exactly how it will play out, and exactly how it will end.

While the romantic aspect is present from the start, it is initially interspersed with an intriguing set of circumstances the reader is drawn into, and a puzzle you cannot help but need to solve. The writing is solid, not spectacular literature, but certainly far better than a lot of Young Adult material, with some beautiful descriptions and a smattering of amusing dialogue. Then there comes a point where the plot takes, what can only be described as, the Twilight Twist. The entire novel becomes about the romance, and as a consequence drops the aspects of the plot which were actually unique and interesting. Major events are somehow left unresolved as a brand new and totally unoriginal subplot pops up out of nowhere, overtaking the whole novel. You are left with the impression that the printers made an error, and stuck the first part of a promising novel to the second half of something very dull.

You feel cheated.

Another let down of the novel is its setting, for while there are some stunning descriptions of Prague, you get no sense at all of Czech culture; it’s an American novel on holiday. In addition there are several scenes – some of them quite lengthily – which have no real function, other than playing out what is obviously something the author thought was a fun idea. While there is no disputing that some of these scenes are, indeed, quite fun, others are simply girlish fantasies, the rest just plain dull.

The saving grace of Daughter of Smoke and Bone is, as with Twilight, as with Fifty Shades of Grey, that it is – at least for some people – wonderful escapology. For the actual Young Adult audience, there’s no doubt it’s a magnificent read, a fact attested by the popularity of the novel. For the older audience who still like to indulge their inner teen once in a while, the same can probably be said. For the rest of us though, who like a little more substance to the books we read, even when reading for an escape, it falls short. Worse still, one can only infer from the direction the novel takes that the best has already occurred, and the sequel will bring nothing but further disappointment.

Modern Book Review: Star of the Sea (2003)

In 2003, Irish author Joseph O’Connor released the historical novel Star of the Sea, combining fact and fiction in an innovative way to create a tale – a collective biography – depicting the harrowing journey undergone by Irish immigrants escaping the terrible famine ravaging the country. This period in history would come to be widely known as “the greatest social catastrophe of 19^th century Europe”, as described in a review of the novel upon its release by Terry Eagleton. Such was the immense scale of human loss and sacrifice.

The main event in the narrative – the Star of the Sea voyage – takes place in 1847, with the details of various passengers’ life stories continually emerging. These eventually combine to create a collage of human experience within the context of “History”, managing to be every bit as evocative, as if it were written –or compiled as the case seems to be – into a present-day diary. The voyage of the Star of the Sea to America became infamous as one of the most deadly of those many that attempted a similar path across the ocean, claiming lives relentlessly throughout the journey – with a cruel irony, some even before the journey had begun.

The “menace” of the impending journey is established early; the “viciously black water which could explode at the slightest provocation” already sets a dangerous and foreboding atmosphere. A dark figure – the Ghost, or the Monster, as he is described in the passage, whose real name is Pius Mulvey, stalks the decks, adding menace to an already apprehensive atmosphere. “He seemed to carry an indescribable burden” – that burden being the “mission” he was being coerced into undertaking at some point during the journey.

Then we meet the troubled couple, David and Laura Merrdith, and their nanny Mary Duane, all of whom are linked in more ways than what it appears to be on the surface. It transpires, unfortunately not surprisingly at the time, that David had been propositioning Mary, but simply to watch her undress and nothing more. It is not clear whether Laura realises what occurs between them but they become an almost normally squabbling couple; “Abusing each other had become a kind of pantomime”.

David soon comes to blows with the claiming-to-be enlightened and self-promoting American, Mr Dixon, who takes a fashionably liberal stance towards the plight of immigrants and the ongoing slavery which was rife in America at the time; ie., “Treat a man like a savage and he’ll behave like one”. This certainly contrasts heavily with the virulent extracts from the magazines, but even here there seems to be a scale of discrimination. However, soon even Mr Dixon veers slightly from his supposedly liberal agenda, to comment on the many troubles Ireland was facing at the time, saying simply that “its nom de guerre is Laissez Faire”.

Inevitably, the class system was going to infiltrate Irish society, if not in legal terms then certainly in attitude. Ships at the time would be holding these people together for great lengths of time, so many would revert back to the familiar class system in order to reassure the passengers that not all law and order was lost at sea; that this happens on a ship with primarily Irish people, most of whom are merely trying to survive, is in itself worthy of note.

It soon emerges that Mulvey, his brother and Mary Duane have a history; Mulvey, rebelling against taking the priesthood like his brother, got involved with Mary Duane, resulting in a sort of “love triangle”. When Mary ends up in “the family way”, Mulvey leaves abruptly, with Mary soon suffering a miscarriage. Shunned by the Mulvey brothers, and by society, she was forced into prostitution for some time before being adopted into the Merridith family as a nanny.

However, it is Pius Mulvey who perhaps has the darkest story to tell; after the “incident” with his brother and Mary Duane, he essentially goes “on the run”; he goes to the city, eventually ending up in London, and ending up in a life of crime, keeps going under new aliases to fit in. However, his past does not get left behind completely, as shady acquaintances blackmail him into carrying out another murder on the Star of the Sea – the intended victim being David Merridith – before reaching the shore.

Just as the ship was so unbearably close to shore at home, problems begin to arise as the ship draws tantalisingly close to the American shore. Immigration issues mean that the ship is not allowed to dock and allow its passengers to disembark, so technically, while the ship is so close to shore, it and everyone within is still subject to the laws of the old country. People continue to die, and others in desperation – just as before – leap off the ship and swim to shore.

Furthermore, Mulvey has been carrying the burden of his past and the task he’s been assigned for some time, continually “speaking at an angle”, prompting him to actually warn Merridith of the plot, saving his life initially and absolving himself of the responsibility, yet someone else ends up taking it upon themselves to kill Merridith, giving a tragic foreshadowing quality to someone saying not long before, “one of them would never set foot in Manhattan”.

The Star of the Sea had become a prison, and by the end of the journey, in the literal sense. A prison which, those who did survive, grew more determined to escape; when that day finally did come, the fates of the characters on board the Star of the Sea proved to be variable. After the death of her husband, Laura Merridith and her sons try to repair and restart their lives in the New World, while Mulvey ends up not being able to escape his past entirely, as he ends up being caught and murdered quite gruesomely, putting an abrupt end to his troubled life of crime. Meanwhile, there is the unexplained disappearance of Mary Duane – she embarked upon the New World never to be seen again. Hints of her whereabouts, and possible identity, crop up all over the country, but no-one can be sure that it is in fact Mary, because she disappears again just as quickly.

Even in the time since this novel’s release, there have been far more Irish authors approaching the subject of their nationality, and its troubled history. Joseph O’Connor has articulated this traumatic time in Ireland’s history, using fact and fiction in turn, where they are deemed necessary. Possibly the most “true-to-life” example, if not entirely anchored in fact, of life on board the “Star of the Sea” in the deadly winter crossing of 1847, as there is likely to be.

Book Review: Sea Of Glass

Barry Longyear’s Sea of Glass is one of those rare gems that you tear through, then habitually re-read, until the spine is more creases than cover and you know it inside out. Despite this, you are still unable to quantify precisely why you love it so much.

Published in 1987, and set in a dystopian future that is now the present day, the subjects of overpopulation and the consumption of natural resources are now old and familiar. Despite the age of the book and its themes, the narrative is as fresh today as it was in its infancy. Told from the perspective of Thomas Windom, first as a seven year old, then as an extremely troubled teen, the novel offers a peculiar perspective on the inner workings of a body and mind subjected to far too much, for too young.

On his seventh birthday, Thomas opens the window in his stuffy attic room and, for the first time in his life, sees Sky – a concept he had previously struggled to grasp, yet knew existed. Spotted by a neighbour, and reported to the dreaded ‘men in black’, Thomas is taken to an orphanage for illegal children while his parents are executed. As a ‘redbird’ at the orphanage, Thomas is immediately flung into a world of violence, oddly mixed with the sexual tensions surrounding any group of pre-teens and adolescents living in very close quarters. In his struggles against the ‘blackshit’, Thomas comes to learn more about the world and understand that, due to massive overpopulation, the planet’s inhabitants have essentially split into two, one half dedicated to preventing the destruction of mankind, by strictly limiting population growth, the other allowing nature to take its course. Running in the background is the ominous presence of MAC III, a supercomputer which, by a series of complicated projections and predictions regarding future events, influences the course of developments in an attempt to postpone the inevitable War between the two factions, which MAC III is certain will occur, when the opposing side run out of resources.

Longyear, however, has taken what could have been a simple, albeit engaging plot, and given it endless depth through considerations of psychology, morality, religion, determinism, and fate. Add to this truncated prose that mirror very well the workings of a fractured mind and he has created a narrative that is as timeless as the question at the heart of the novel itself: why?