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May 05, 2008

Comments

D.

I don't understand why Martin Amis is so upset. I don't mean this in a nasty way, but he has done remarkably well for a writer without much talent. Instead of genre writing he has taken his limited abilities very far in the world of what used to be called "Serious Literature." In spite of the fact that he doesn't have very much to say, he has sold many books and gotten much critical acclaim. Personally, I have no idea why this is so, but why is he sighing? He should be grateful for what he has. I've tried to read several of his works and couldn't get very far in any of them. I used to think that there was something wrong with me until I realized that the critics were getting stuck in his surface facility and didn't notice that there wasn't anything to back it up. If he is writing to the best of his ability - such as it is - and is doing as well as he is, then he has no complaint. Besides, it doesn't really matter. His work isn't going to last very long after he's gone.

Troy

I scarcely think you, or whatever collection of personalities makes up your "we", are at all in any position to condescend to Martin Amis.

Robyn Hode

Martin couldn't hold a candle to Kingsley. As the author of the great "Lucky Jim" once said to Martin, "you are a leaf in the wind of trend." Or something like that...

Patterson

And I scarcely thing that anybody with a first name that sounds like a dimwitted linebacker with a drinking problem has any business using my surname. Too bad you're not a woman. Yes, you certainly write like one. But it would be wonderful to have you married to a surname befitting your bereft intellect. Now if I can just get this James guy to stop using me, my duties will be at an end.

Daniel

Troy, I agree with you. All this Amis-bashing is a little over the top. Dis the politics if you like but the complete dismissal of his fiction is straight-up nuts. Money and The Information are certainly more than "surface facility" to me. It reminds me of the penchant for Tom Wolfe-bashing around here. You may not like what he's doing these days (who could?) but don't dismantle the whole contribution.

James

I couldn't agree more, Daniel. To bash someone because of their contributions in a specific medium or a specific genre is unseemly for any self-respecting critic.

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TEV DEFINED


  • The Elegant Variation is "Fowler’s (1926, 1965) term for the inept writer’s overstrained efforts at freshness or vividness of expression. Prose guilty of elegant variation calls attention to itself and doesn’t permit its ideas to seem naturally clear. It typically seeks fancy new words for familiar things, and it scrambles for synonyms in order to avoid at all costs repeating a word, even though repetition might be the natural, normal thing to do: The audience had a certain bovine placidity, instead of The audience was as placid as cows. Elegant variation is often the rock, and a stereotype, a cliché, or a tired metaphor the hard place between which inexperienced or foolish writers come to grief. The familiar middle ground in treating these homely topics is almost always the safest. In untrained or unrestrained hands, a thesaurus can be dangerous."

SECOND LOOK

  • The Bookshop by Penelope Fitzgerald

    Bs

    Penelope Fitzgerald's second novel is the tale of Florence Green, a widow who seeks, in the late 1950s, to bring a bookstore to an isolated British town, encountering all manner of obstacles, including incompetent builders, vindictive gentry, small minded bankers, an irritable poltergeist, but, above all, a town that might not, in fact, want a bookshop. Fitzgerald's prose is spare but evocative – there's no wasted effort and her work reminds one of Hemingway's dictum that every word should fight for its right to be on the page. Florence is an engaging creation, stubbornly committed to her plan even as uncertainty regarding the wisdom of the enterprise gnaws at her. But The Bookshop concerns itself, finally, with the astonishing vindictiveness of which provincials are capable, and, as so much English fiction must, it grapples with the inevitabilities of class. It's a dense marvel at 123 pages, a book you won't want to – or be able to – rush through.
  • The Rider by Tim Krabbe

    Rider_4

    Tim Krabbé's superb 1978 memoir-cum-novel is the single best book we've read about cycling, a book that will come closer to bringing you inside a grueling road race than anything else out there. A kilometer-by-kilometer look at just what is required to endure some of the most grueling terrain in the world, Krabbé explains the tactics, the choices and – above all – the grinding, endless, excruciating pain that every cyclist faces and makes it heart-pounding rather than expository or tedious. No writer has better captured both the agony and the determination to ride through the agony. He's an elegant stylist (ably served by Sam Garrett's fine translation) and The Rider manages to be that rarest hybrid – an authentic, accurate book about cycling that's a pleasure to read. "Non-racers," he writes. "The emptiness of those lives shocks me."