The Author is Always Right?

Ah, books with an author as the protagonist. These seem to fall into two categories, ones where the protagonist happens to be an author (there’s a whole subgenre of mysteries, I’d argue, where the protagonist is an author of mystery novels, who then gets caught up in mystery after mystery), versus books where the author is narrating/writing the novel that you are reading, leading to a nice meta experience. Both The Black Prince and Vanishing Point were of the latter variety.

The Black Prince affirmed my love for Iris Murdoch; it was very similar to Under the Net in many ways, but still felt fresh and interesting. Murdoch’s wry humor is present throughout; I also thought that the random, literary and/or philosophical tangents were better integrated than in Under the Net. Some of the characters, notably the ex-wife, felt underdeveloped, though. In some ways, it seemed like Murdoch bit off more than she could chew and/or the story went in a different direction that she had originally planned.

The novel also features a classically unreliable narrator. This is hinted at near the beginning in the author’s forward (that is, “the author’s,” not Murdoch’s, of course), and becomes very evident near the end, and is solidified in the various post-scripts from other characters. It’s not clear, though, what happened. We know that the version is not exactly as presented by Pearson, but the veracity of the post scripts (all self-serving) is certainly in question.

Side note, but this is a book that likely reads better if you are familiar with Hamlet/get the title reference. Another reason to be annoyed that the list really only includes novels.

Vanishing Point is not for everyone. Actually, I’m not sure who it would be for; I can’t imagine ever recommending it. Which isn’t to say that I didn’t enjoy it, but man: you have got to invest in this one. Don’t worry about making sense of it, just read it through to the end. It will all become clear and then it will seem amazing. If you give up part way through, though, it will just seem weird and irritating I would think.

Until near the end, it won’t even really feel like a novel. It’s essentially a collection of quotations, facts, and insights; the premise is that the “author” has pulled out a shoebox of note cards he has collected throughout the years and has put them in order to create a novel, interspersing the cards with occasional musings on his current situation. Nothing is random here, though, and it will make sense and it is a novel. But you do have to really invest in this one (it’s not long, though).

Again, this is likely more enjoyable/comprehensible the more you get the references. I certainly didn’t get all of them, so clearly it’s not completely necessary, but I’d suggest reading a lot before tackling this one.

Side Note: There are multiple novels with the name Vanishing Point; I'm talking about the David Markson one, not the Victor Canning one, which Wikipedia described as "lively and entertaining. The central character, Maurice Crillon, is a French art forger who suddenly discovers that he is the son of an English baronet. His father gives him a picture, which turns out to be a dangerous burden and involves him in a pursuit through Switzerland, Italy and France." Don't go into Markson's excepting lively entertainment. I read the Wikipedia entry for the Canning one, and thought I was missing something. And I was: my ability to read and remember author names.

Go Down, Moses; The Vicar of Wakefield; Under the Net; The Piano Teacher

Yeesh. I’m running behind. In my defense, it’s been a bit crazy. I also don’t have a great deal to say about any of these books (except Under the Net, but mostly I want to say, go read it!), s this should work as one post. As always, spoiler warning for the texts in question.

Oh, Faulkner. I don’t really know what to do with you. I actually really enjoyed The Sound and the Fury. It wasn’t until I had finished it that I read somewhere that it is supposed to be difficult, which I think is unfair. It’s exquisite in this very raw and painful way. It’s a tragedy both in that it is sad/almost depressing, and that it seems inevitable. I’m still a bit afraid of Faulkner, though, and Go Down, Moses didn’t help that. I can’t see it as a novel, try as I might. I can see it as interconnected short stories, but I’d love to talk with someone about it not as vignettes but as a single arching narrative. Because I just didn’t experience it that way. I didn’t connect with most of the stories, except The Old People, The Bear, and Go Down, Moses, itself; my favorite was the first of those three. It’s the one that finally pulled me in.

The Vicar of Wakefield was quite the change of pace. It’s old, of course, and you can certainly see that. It works best as a satire, I guess. I’m glad that it was short, since it got old near the end (one can only take so much of, “and then another catastrophe happened”). I also did not care for the Vicar at all. I sometimes wonder if I would have a very different sensibility if I had been born during that era, or if I would have chafed at the gender roles and expectations. Clearly, our sensibilities and identities are shaped at least in part by our cultural context, but at the same time people born within cultural norms are the ones who change and expand them, so I do wonder where I would have fallen with that (which is to say, I would make a pretty terrible pre-Victorian woman if I suddenly got kicked back in time). All of that acknowledged, I did appreciate the character of the second daughter and her romance. Nothing modern about either, per se, but still I found it admirable and appealing. The book might make a decent play, if you played up the humor.

Under the Net made me fall in love with Iris Murdoch. I read this book incredibly quickly, because it was so much fun. Who couldn’t love a story where a man decides to steal a movie star dog when he is essentially homeless all for an extremely muddled notion about holding it ransom when it is clearly more of a liability than an asset? I also loved all three women as characters. Murdoch created three dimensional characters that still had elements of caricatures, but that were also fully realized. They had their own desires and ambitions, and weren’t just accessories (maybe because this was the first female author I’ve read in a bit). This doesn’t even touch on the philosophy, which adds weight to what might otherwise seem almost frothy (though frothy is not an applicable adjective at all). It would be interesting to re-read the novel from the perspective of the philosophical debates within it as sort of a meta close read. The other way I’d turn this into an academic paper would be through the main character’s journey arc, also cast through the prism of the philosophical debates. Still trying to figure out to whom I could recommend this one, since I really enjoyed it, but I’m not sure who else would have the same connection.

The Piano Teacher has earned a dubious place on the books that I almost wanted to stop reading/books that I am mostly glad I have read because it means that I never have to face them again. I do not necessarily object to the portrayal of violence, even sexual violence in graphic detail, but this book was really hard for me to get through. I see plenty of the dark side of humanity without it being so thoroughly and singly portrayed in my reading choices. I went back and forth between which character I hated the most. I can admire the craft and the prose, but this one was hard for me and I’m so glad it is behind me. It did raise some interesting questions about why certain books are considered important/good, which I’ll discuss in a later post, though.

Reading the Fingersmith right now. Saw this twist coming, but it was still sort of shocking when it was actually upon me.