The first book that got me thinking was Just Kids by Patti Smith, winner of the National Book Award, and the only one I truly loved. There’s no glamour involved in her memoir, no lessons to be learned and no bullshit. It’s raw, it’s gritty and gives us a clear picture of the 1970s New York art scene and her relationship with photographer Robert Mapplethorpe. Despite the sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll, it’s actually a quite touching and almost romantic story about two lost souls who try to make sense of themselves and the world. Anything goes really, as long as it gets you to where you want to go. There are no social or moral dilemmas, no preachy tone, just the facts, pure and simple and that’s why she really deserved the award because of her unsentimental portrayal of troubling times.
Many authors today have the habit of overanalyzing everything and making things a philosophical quest for enlightenment and understanding like Howard Jacobson in The Finkler Question, winner of the Booker Prize. This is a novel I just could not get into no matter how hard I tried. The Finkler Question focuses primarily on Julian Treslove, a man in his early to mid-50s who is still in search of his self. He is mugged after leaving the home of a close friend, who happens to be Jewish and the mugger, Julian comes to believe, says "You Jew". This event makes him want to “find himself” even more and he starts to contemplate the possibility of becoming Jewish. The Finkler Question is the Jewish question. Jacobson explores what it means to be Jewish in London in 2010. Through Julian's search for his self, we are given insights into how Jews see themselves, how they see their religion, how they feel others perceive them, anti-Zionism and anti-Semitism. Although Jacobson’s writing is beautiful, the story was tedious at best: three grumpy old men with too much time on their hands pondering anything and everything. I still cannot believe this won the Booker Prize! Jews pondering on anti-Semitism isn’t particularly revolutionary but like I said, a “difficult” and “historical” topic always gets away with it. Lest we forget…
And then there’s Alabama Song by Gilles Leroy, winner of the Prix Goncourt, based on the lives of Zelda and F. Scott Fitzgerald, two fascinating people with rambunctious lives. Sadly, I can’t say the same about the novel. I read this piece of French fiction in Dutch and I’m still not quite sure if the translation was awful or Leroy is just a bad writer but the language was idiotic and simplistic. The entire novel is told from Zelda’s perspective who was troubled person to say the least but Leroy portrays her as an annoying whiny bitch. I love a fictional biography as much as the next person, heck it was my thesis subject but come on. Due to the fragmentary storytelling, the novel also lacks atmosphere making the roaring twenties and thirties dull and lifeless.I have always been skeptical of award-winning books but these last few have really tipped me over the edge. No matter how beautiful the writing or how important the subject matter is, when a story sucks, the book sucks! During my time at university I’ve read the Classics and dozens of highbrow novels which turned me into a literary snob, frowning on chick lit and thrillers. But the more I read, the more I realize that what makes a novel work for me namely: story, character and writing, high or lowbrow doesn't really matter.
If the story doesn’t captivate me, who cares how well it’s written (Franzen’s Freedom)? If the characters annoy me, who cares that it’s a Booker Prize winner (The Finkler Question)? If a book gives you a headache to keep up, why bother (Hilary Mantel’s Wolf Hall, amazing accomplishment but not exactly relaxing)?
I’m actually more impressed by authors who are able to create a whole new and exciting world than base themselves on true or historical events. Copying isn’t creating or that’s my opinion at least, which also explains the success of lowbrow fiction that merely aims to entertain with is wacky characters and unrealistic plots. Seeing as I’ve had my fill of intellectual fiction and the fact that I’ve stocked up on crappy novels at the boekenfestijn, I’ve decided to go slumming for a while. I’m in need of some mind-numbing entertainment because reading should be fun, not hard work, unless hard work is your idea of fun (yes Pynchon fans, I’m talking to you).
I attended several author interviews this weekend starting with Willy Vlautin who was at the store on Thursday night to promote his book Lean on Pete. I had no idea who he was or that he had written several novels or that he was the lead singer of country band Richmond Fontaine. For this I thank Google.
We also saw Herman Koch on Saturday whom the pumpkin loves from his Jiskefet years, no comment. I haven't read his latest novel Zomerhuis met Zwembad yet but I really loved his last book Het Diner. If you want to read some edgy and contemporary Dutch fiction, Koch is definitely the way to go. During the interview he mainly talked about the medical world in the Netherlands seeing as his main character is a GP. It was interesting and illuminating but I couldn't get over the fact that not more people are interested in hearing / meeting great authors.