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Possession: a romance by AS Byatt #booker

It is done. I have finally finished Possession. It has taken some
willpower to get through it – just like The Children’s Book did. I
shan’t be inclined to pick up a Byatt again willingly!

In Possession, we follow two academic authorities on two nineteenth
century poets (Randolph Henry Ash and Christabel LaMotte) as they
uncover evidence that links the two poets and search to find more
pieces of the puzzle.

The book is full of potential, but seems to be too ambitious, or
rather, too sprawling. It isn’t the length I mind – I read Lord of the
Rings on an almost annual basis, and I steamed through Wolf Hall. It’s
more that the story seems so fragmented. There’s a page about thirty
from the end in which one of Byatt’s characters outlines the
through-line of the narrative to other characters, which serves to
highlight just how meandering a story Possession is (in the way that
it deviates from this through line). But it isn’t this somewhat
short-sighted approach that I find really irksome.

The real problem is the tone – Byatt writes much of Possession as
though it is an academic paper. Granted, academics are, to an extent,
the subject matter, but it feels like Byatt actually wants to write
the papers that explore liminaity, gender politics, and so on. The
novel seems like a vehicle for covertly expounding some theories and
playing with some very academic notions, but it isn’t engaging.
Moreover, it is at odds with the story, which is more fantasy than
reality – something Byatt seems to excuse by calling it a romance. The
strange, neat, happy ending ‘adventure’ of the story jars with the
sophistication of the intellectual discourse – give me either, and I
can judge it and be satiated – give me both, and I’ll just be
irritated.
Having now forced myself through two of her novels, I think I can
safely say that Byatt isn’t for me. Instead of heart, her novels have
a sledgehammer of an intellect.

The sea, the sea by Iris Murdoch #booker

An ageing man gives up his glamorous life in London as an eminent theatre director, moves into an odd house on the coast, and picks up his pen with the intention of 'finding' his 'form' and exploring what has been and will be his life. The man has a few strange episodes at the start of the book relating to peculiar visions and ghostly activity, but the story is quickly overtaken by a series of increasingly incredible events the centre on him finding his long lost childhood sweetheart.

The sea, the sea is too long by far. The novel's charm comes from the daily occupations of a man seemingly seeking something akin to solitude or peace – his daily encounters with the sea, his domestication of the rocks surrounding his house, the meticulous descriptions of his particular brand of culinary activity. In these details, the novel sings. The story, though, is curiously constructed – it starts like a ghost story, quickly shifts into a somewhat farcical drama and then becomes a meditation on spirituality. The house is at times phantasmic, though it never truly fulfils its potential as a force to be reckoned with. The central plot – the overlong 'history' section – is ridiculous, and brings out all that is unbearable in Charles, the protagonist. By chance, he meets again his childhood sweetheart, who left him some forty five years earlier. He decides that he has another chance to pursue her, that they may find happiness with one another again, and he hatches elaborate plots to determine ways to meet her, to ensnare her, to 'rescue' her. She, however, has no intention of being rescued, has no notion that things might be different, and at the apex of the silliness, when Charles has her held against her will in his house, there are a number of very tedious exchanges in which Charles fails to listen to anything she says, and in which she fails to say anything rational or convincing. This farce ruins what has the makings of a great novel: many of the peripheral characters are interesting and colourful; the setting is evocative, menacing and powerful; and the context of the protagonist seeking a retreat but ending up with something different has potential. The ending is a reward for the feat of endurance to get through the book, but its potency is all but destroyed by the preceeding nonsense.

Sadly, I think this novel tries to be too many things, and as a result, fails to find a focused 'form' – which throws an odd light Charles' explicit intention to allow the writing to find its own form.

An evening of ManBooker with Nottinghamshire libraries

No doubt you are as excited as me about this year’s ManBooker award. If you are in the Nottinghamshire locality, then put the 12th October 2010 in your diary and head on down to Arnold library for a stimulating evening of bibliophilia!

A panel of esteemed cultural figures will be matched up with their perfect book from the shortlist by Sheelagh Gallagher, Nottinghamshire libraries own Book Doctor. The panel includes Radio show host Frances Finn http://twitter.com/francesfinnshow, writer Nicola Monaghan http://nicolamonaghan.blogspot.com/, Literature specialist at the University of Nottingham Peter Preston http://www.nottingham.ac.uk/English/People/peterjd117, proprietor of independent bookshop and organiser of Lowdham Book Festival Jane Streeter http://www.thebookcase.co.uk/, writer and books editor for Left Lion James K Walker http://www.jameskwalker.co.uk/, and me. No joke!

There will of course be wine for the cultured audience we’re expecting, a professional actor will be reading from the shortlist, and we have a live link-up for the announcement of the winner at 10pm on the night. Truly, this is an event not to be missed!

So I’ll be polishing my best shoes, and eagerly awaiting my perfect book match. Bookworm accolade for you if you can correctly predict which book I’ll be recommending…