Frankenstein
By Mary Shelley
The book that founded science fiction had been on my reading list for some time. But it wasn’t until I came across a copy of Shelley’s classic wedged in between all the Dracula books in a shop in Whitby that I decided to embrace my inner demons and tackle Frankenstein.
Above all else, Frankenstein defined a new genre. Shelley used both the wonder and horror science as a way of exploring deeply philosophical themes from identity to family to discovery and, classically, existentialism. But not only this novel profound, it is also deliciously readable: Frankenstein is as startlingly original as it is enchanting. From the opening section, in which Walton describes to his dear sister his arduous journey and discovery of Victor Frankenstein, through that character’s misendeavours and terror, this novel holds the reader’s attention in a grasp not unlike that used by its monster to throttle his victims.
The novel also achieves a great structural success. When Victor is found by Walton, I had certainly forgotten that I was reading his account and that this would inevitably catch up with the present. It was perfect timing. Like Victor, Shelley crafted something that will stay around for a long time, as it underpins the ever-growing sci-fi genre. Goodness knows what would have happened without Frankenstein. That’s a scary thought indeed.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
A collision course of style, scene and sex
Crash
JG Ballard
The best thing about JG Ballard is that, as a writer, he refuses to be pinned down or hemmed in. He will not let a certain genre or style take control of his work. Instead, he relies on his own imaginative power to tell a unique story every time. Never can this be more evident than in this novel.
Crash details how, after surviving an automobile accident, James is drawn intensely to other car crashes and their victims. Suddenly an entire new world opens up for James, who is guided through it by the mysterious and magnetic Vaughan, whose own car accident changed his life. The pair prowls the highways of southwest London photographing car wrecks and meeting other survivors. The obsession quickly becomes sexual in nature, and so we are introduced through James to a fascinating collection of sexual experiences where the mechanics of cars play an active part. On paper, this sounds crude, but Ballard stirs his surreal fantasies into a new, entirely conceivable reality. Within the world he creates in Crash, this kind of sexuality is perfect, possibly even normal. Never once does Ballard’s invented world falter. It remains a tight, well-conceived universe drawn by a master.
However, one wonders whether Ballard had to spend too much time characterising this world and fleshing out its realistic protagonists that he skipped over the chance to weave in a strong plot. The book does indeed have action, development and suspense but it definitely lacks in drive: Ballard could have revved up the stakes somewhat with a little more complexity to the actual story.
JG Ballard
The best thing about JG Ballard is that, as a writer, he refuses to be pinned down or hemmed in. He will not let a certain genre or style take control of his work. Instead, he relies on his own imaginative power to tell a unique story every time. Never can this be more evident than in this novel.
Crash details how, after surviving an automobile accident, James is drawn intensely to other car crashes and their victims. Suddenly an entire new world opens up for James, who is guided through it by the mysterious and magnetic Vaughan, whose own car accident changed his life. The pair prowls the highways of southwest London photographing car wrecks and meeting other survivors. The obsession quickly becomes sexual in nature, and so we are introduced through James to a fascinating collection of sexual experiences where the mechanics of cars play an active part. On paper, this sounds crude, but Ballard stirs his surreal fantasies into a new, entirely conceivable reality. Within the world he creates in Crash, this kind of sexuality is perfect, possibly even normal. Never once does Ballard’s invented world falter. It remains a tight, well-conceived universe drawn by a master.
However, one wonders whether Ballard had to spend too much time characterising this world and fleshing out its realistic protagonists that he skipped over the chance to weave in a strong plot. The book does indeed have action, development and suspense but it definitely lacks in drive: Ballard could have revved up the stakes somewhat with a little more complexity to the actual story.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Bathing in Banville
The Sea
By John Banville
As readers accustomed to a beginning, middle and end, and characters that remain consistent across a few hundred pages, we often forget that human beings are complex creatures. A writer’s challenge is to distil those complexities into the written word and therefore create a truthful, perhaps even universal, story. But Banville sees that task as too large (indeed, it is probably impossible). Instead, he starts with form: how to make the appearance of the words work for the story itself. By deliberately choosing to tell this story through his protagonist’s memory and a few images of the present day, Banville acknowledges that we are nothing if not a sum of our experiences. He knows that while we think the present is the most relevant time frame to us, actually it is our past that has shaped and continues to develop who we are. Banville makes this argument not in the story of his novel but between the lines – simply because of the way he writes it.
On top of that, the art historian protagonist through whose experience we feel the loss and love that define the novel would naturally appreciate beauty of the form. And Banville delivers. The Sea’s delicious prose wraps gently against the reader’s ankles at first. It is an invitation to the protagonist’s exciting memories. But soon the depths of his prose are apparent: the reader knows it is in the hands of an extraordinary writer – one who is able to be economical yet deeply descriptive. Through this, Banville achieves the status of a truly great writer’s writer. And he is able to say something profound within the space of a short novel. As in life, in The Sea, there is no beginning, middle and end. It is a much more complex work than that.
By John Banville
As readers accustomed to a beginning, middle and end, and characters that remain consistent across a few hundred pages, we often forget that human beings are complex creatures. A writer’s challenge is to distil those complexities into the written word and therefore create a truthful, perhaps even universal, story. But Banville sees that task as too large (indeed, it is probably impossible). Instead, he starts with form: how to make the appearance of the words work for the story itself. By deliberately choosing to tell this story through his protagonist’s memory and a few images of the present day, Banville acknowledges that we are nothing if not a sum of our experiences. He knows that while we think the present is the most relevant time frame to us, actually it is our past that has shaped and continues to develop who we are. Banville makes this argument not in the story of his novel but between the lines – simply because of the way he writes it.
On top of that, the art historian protagonist through whose experience we feel the loss and love that define the novel would naturally appreciate beauty of the form. And Banville delivers. The Sea’s delicious prose wraps gently against the reader’s ankles at first. It is an invitation to the protagonist’s exciting memories. But soon the depths of his prose are apparent: the reader knows it is in the hands of an extraordinary writer – one who is able to be economical yet deeply descriptive. Through this, Banville achieves the status of a truly great writer’s writer. And he is able to say something profound within the space of a short novel. As in life, in The Sea, there is no beginning, middle and end. It is a much more complex work than that.
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