The ludicrous Magnum Opus of one of my favourite authors, The Brightonomicon is one of the greatest works of written comedy I have ever read. It is truly mind-bogglingly brilliant, and after reading it one may never see croquet, taxi drivers, or even the world itself, the same way again.
Set in Brighton in the specific time period of 'the swinging sixties', the teenaged protagonist loses his memory when his life is saved by the great Hugo Rune, the self-proclaimed Greatest Man Who Ever Lived, the guru's guru, the perfect master, and the reinventor of the Ocarina. The protagonist, renamed Rizla by the Perfect Master, becomes Hugo Rune's acolyte for the duration of the next year while he searches to uncover the secrets of the Brightonomicon, the Brighton Zodiac 'discovered' by Rune when he traced the outlines of twelve people and animals along the roads of a Brighton street map, in order to save the world from the sinister machinations of his arch-enemy.
Over the course of twelve short-stories, Hugo Rune and Rizla face a number of challenges, or 'cases' as Rune treats them, in which the mystery of each of the Brighton constellations is uncovered. The 'Hangleton Hound', the 'Moulsecoomb Crab', the 'Bevendean Bat' and the 'Withdean Wiseman' all play their part in aiding Rune to his ultimate goal, albeit most tenuously as possible. While the Hangleton Hound involves the theft of a dog from an address in the Hangleton area of Brighton, the 'Coldean Cat' merely involves the mention of a cat called Coldean who plays no real part in the completion of the case.
Robert Rankin is an author who claims to write in his own genre, which he calls 'far-fetched fiction', meaning that if ever there were rules in writing, he would do his utmost to ignore them. I like to think that once upon a time, Rankin was reading a sensible novel by one of the classic writers (Arthur Conan Doyle, or perhaps one of the Brontes), nodded his head approvingly and muttered: 'Very good,' before tossing the book into an open fire, getting blind drunk and sitting down at a typewriter to hammer out the first things that came into his brain. When he came round in the morning, he saw the depraved nonsense that he had created, involving the secret Ministry of Serendipity who controlled the world from an underground train station, small screws breeding uncontrollably in order to take over the world, a Victorian Computer Age overthrown by the Elephant Man, notions that wheels could not possibly exist, that the world was hollow and that everyone was living on the inside so they wouldn't discover that the other planets in the solar system were inhabited by giant starfish and that it was quite possible to breathe in space, that hedgehogs actually lived in the upper atmosphere until they popped and fell to the ground which explained why there are always dead hedgehogs splattered at the side of the road, that Rankin's native London suburb of Brentford was actually the cradle of history and civilisation which was really the site of the Garden of Eden, and that the London A-Z actually meant 'Allocated Zones' and hid more than they showed, covering up hidden areas of the world into which slipped all the lost pens, socks, tickets and things and could only be accessed by playing an unknown extra note on the reinvented Ocarina. He then turned it into a series of novels, the seven-book long Brentford Trilogy, and his masterpiece The Brightonomicon. I very much doubt it happened like this, but it's what I like to think.
Rankin's comedy (this is Robert Rankin still, not Ian Rankin who is completely unrelated) slips back and forth between the surreal and the groan-inducingly gag-laden, a style that might not have worked anywhere near as well had it not been for the incredibly formal tone of the narrative and dialogue. He describes the most bizarre of conversations in tones perhaps a little reminiscent of British comedy from the earlier parts of the twentieth century. Alas I cannot claim among their charms that Rankin's works are especially well-written, and that many of his characters sound very similar in their choice of words and speech patterns, but then I never claimed to see Rankin in terms of literary merit. The thing to be sure of with Rankin is that his books are mad to the extreme, and he seems to take a great pleasure in breaking as many of the rules of writing as he can. I like to indulge myself in that sort of thing occasionally, just as sometimes a person who appreciates fine food might one day walk into a Fish-and-Chip shop and order deep-fried Mars bar, just because they know it is wrong in so many ways (and because it's wierdly delicious at the same time. So wrong, but so tasty).
In terms of the brilliance of The Brightonomicon there is so much to say, so I will try to keep it brief. Hugo Rune is an amazing character, one of R. Rankin's best - he appears in many Rankin novels, but it is here that he plays the central role. Rune styles himself as the Most Amazing Man Who Ever Lived, being particularly big-headed and arrogant about it, but he has stones to back his claims up; he has lived for thousands of years, met many of the great people of history (artists, inventors, Dalia Lamas, explorers), and was responsible for guiding humanity on its course, inventing Heavy Metal, and saving the world on countless occasions. In his particularly 'Hugo Rune' fashion, he refuses to pay for anything, claiming that he has given the world so much that the least it can do is cover his expenses, even if no-one sees his point of view. He avoids paying rent, gets free meals by smuggling rat-bones into the finest eating establishments, and repays taxi drivers by clubbing them unconscious with his stout stick upon reaching the destination. Hugo Rune is a terrible yet wonderful creation by Rankin, and stands as a shining star amongst his works. If Sherlock Holmes were more of a self-idolizing bastard.... one with seemingly magical abilities.
Anyway, back to the matter at hand, my other favourite thing about this book is another brilliant character, Fangio the Barman. Whenever Rizla enters a new pub or bar, he realises that it is crewed by the same barman as the one from the pub next to his home - Fangio. Every chapter Rizla and Fangio 'talk the toot', meaningless and bizarre conversations that have absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with the rest of the plot, whole pages are whiled away in idle chit-chat as they discuss the ales on offer, the schizophrenic refurbishment policies of the pub, and Fangio's attempts to become a gay icon, dyslexic, and then a Carry-On film style of innuendo giver. It is beautrifully irrelevent, and it happens every chapter.
And one last note, there is a formula to each case, in which they usually start with a decent breakfast at Hugo Rune's rooms, before embarking on their initial investigation of the case at hand, there is usually a paragraph about the taxi-cab which conveys them to their destiation, in which the driver is introduced by first-name, along with their favourite football team, and some weird metaphysical theory is breifly described. There is usually a chance run-in with Fangio the Barman, and toot is talked, and towards the end Hugo Rune solves the case because he secretly knew from the beginning what the answer was, and just lets events run their course. There are significant variations on this formula during the book, especially for the last four cases, but these are the common elements that go to make the whole thing brilliant.
Robert Rankin still maintains his position as one of my favourite writers, though there are some of his novels that I am less keen on than others. I would reccommend anything from the Brentford Trilogy or Cornelius Murphy Trilogy, particularly Raiders of the Lost Car Park, and another favourite of mine is The Greatest Show Off Earth. They are all weird and wonderful in their own way, but Rankin's style does sometimes drag a bit, at least I have found so on occasion. But that is a minor criticism. Undoubtedly the best is The Brightonomicon because it contains all the best elements of Rankin's work.
Monday 31 December 2012
Saturday 22 December 2012
Venetian Bird, by Victor Canning
My forays into the action-thriller genre have always been met with some amount of disappointment. They're generally all-right, from my experience, but for something labelled as a thriller I've always found them a little dull for my tastes.
Not so for Venetian Bird! Of all the books of this genre I've ever read, this is undoubtedly the best so far. For most writers, the stock 'exotic locations' where they set their stories tend to feel more like a nice photograph for the story to take place in front of, whereas Canning has provided so much rich detail of postwar Venice that the location is an indespensible part of the story. The characters are all good, each one worth an entire 'cannon-fodder' crew from MacLean, and for a story which is about a man wandering around a city, I thought it was exceptionally good. It took until over half-way through the book before anything really resembling an action-thriller took place, but I was quite happy with this. MacLean was all about the plot and the action, whereas Canning seems to write about more normal, everyday things, which helps his story to be a bit more believeable.
The best part of this book, that thing that puts it head and shoulders above every other thriller I have read, is the way that Canning writes. His observations are gorgeous, describing scenes with a handful of nicely-pruned sentences, painting an incredibly vivid picture of the city that makes it feel quite alive. The characters as well have been given a certain special treatment, being more than a mere stock-face and role to play in the plot - the introduction of the protagonist, Mercer, stands out in my mind because of the way he is presented, absent-mindedly tapping his spoon against a glass, which accidentally summons a waiter who himself is also bored.
Other than that, there's not much more I can say about it. I really liked this book, I like Cannings writing style, I liked the story, I really liked the characters, and the setting was amazing in its presentation.
Not so for Venetian Bird! Of all the books of this genre I've ever read, this is undoubtedly the best so far. For most writers, the stock 'exotic locations' where they set their stories tend to feel more like a nice photograph for the story to take place in front of, whereas Canning has provided so much rich detail of postwar Venice that the location is an indespensible part of the story. The characters are all good, each one worth an entire 'cannon-fodder' crew from MacLean, and for a story which is about a man wandering around a city, I thought it was exceptionally good. It took until over half-way through the book before anything really resembling an action-thriller took place, but I was quite happy with this. MacLean was all about the plot and the action, whereas Canning seems to write about more normal, everyday things, which helps his story to be a bit more believeable.
The best part of this book, that thing that puts it head and shoulders above every other thriller I have read, is the way that Canning writes. His observations are gorgeous, describing scenes with a handful of nicely-pruned sentences, painting an incredibly vivid picture of the city that makes it feel quite alive. The characters as well have been given a certain special treatment, being more than a mere stock-face and role to play in the plot - the introduction of the protagonist, Mercer, stands out in my mind because of the way he is presented, absent-mindedly tapping his spoon against a glass, which accidentally summons a waiter who himself is also bored.
Other than that, there's not much more I can say about it. I really liked this book, I like Cannings writing style, I liked the story, I really liked the characters, and the setting was amazing in its presentation.
Thursday 6 December 2012
Where Eagles Dare, and other stuff by Alistair MacLean
Obviously, I have read Where Eagles Dare, but this is not the first MacLean I have digested over the course of my life - just the most famous. Probably. I also read Force 10 From Navarone, a sequel of The Guns of Navarone, of which I have only seen the 1962 film, and River of Death, which is about Nazi war criminals in hiding. River of Death was the first I read, confusing me royally, but it did prepare me for MacLean's style with the others I have witnessed. As such, I'll be reviewing the author more than any particular novel of his, because they share more similarities than differences.
The first thing to mention about MacLean is that it is impossible to trust any of his characters to tell the truth; in short, they always lie, and the protagonist is always hiding something, even right at the end. This has the effect of making the plots of each book twisty and confusing, and a lot of the time I find myself more baffled than shocked. The plots can generally be summed up as this: a team is assembled (there's always the team, filled by various non-descript, blank-faced people whose main purpose are to get slowly killed off one by one as the story progresses, and then at the end the survivors get killed in one great clump) and has to embark on a daring mission, of which the future of the free world is at stake, only to discover as time goes on that there is a secret purpose for the mission, one which only the protagonist/team leader is aware of, and that their mission briefing was just a cover-up for the real goals. By the time I picked up Where Eagles Dare, my fourth MacLean story, I thought I was wise enough to guess what the hell was going on - it turned out to be even more bewildering than I had anticipated. It was almost ridiculous, but MacLean does seem to perform well in his own element.
The characters, unfortunately, prove to be the weakest part of the books, due to a distinct lack of development. The protagonists of each book are all cynical, ruthless, and secretive, good for the stories they're in, but they can easily be transplanted from one to another. As an example, Mallory from the Navarone stories has, at least for me, no discernable difference of character to Smith of Where Eagles Dare, and this problem is made all the more apparent by the fact that both of them have wisecracking, sarcastic sidekicks. The sidekick characters of Miller and Schaffer respectively are a little more interesting, owing to their stark contrast to the dour, secretive protagonists, but again it was their similarities between books that bugged me. It just makes me wonder that if MacLean liked writing these sorts of characters so much, then maybe he should have written using the same people, rather than just giving them a quick scrub and a change of name; if he had done this, then maybe he could have developed the characters a bit more between books. I read on Wikipedia that he only uses recurring characters once, and that was between the two Navarone books.
My final point about the characters brings us to 'the rest of the team', that group of people with interchangeable names who end up getting killed, one or more of whom turn out to be traitors, who then get killed. They're always introduced in a bunch at a time, making them very difficult to distinguish from one-another, and in many cases the only interesting thing about each one individually is when precisely in the plot they end up dying. None of them are sufficiently developed enough to warrant anything more than apathy at their passing, or a shrug when they turn out to be bad-guys, or slight annoyance when they quite rightly accuse the team leader of witholding information from them.
Now that my major gripes about the characters are out the way, I can mention some of the things I like about MacLean. Despite what I said about the main characters being recycled and under-developed, I do like them for the fact that they are calculating no-nonsense ruthless bastards, and they don't let anything get in the way of their jobs (which, of course, only they know the whole truth about). This is a good quality for characters to have in thrillers such as these, because MacLean will always make sure the challenge is impossible, something that only a character as hard as nails has any chance of surviving, let alone succeeding.
The plots of the stories are intense, and MacLean pulls every trick he can in order to increase the suspense - he knows a few tricks, but alas he uses all of them every single time, making the books a little repetative from time to time. The characters are put through terrible trials of endurance and intelligence, many of which test their abilities to bluff their way out of impossible situations; just put on a German uniform, act as though you know best, and the enemy troops will believe you're their superior officer. And when all else fails, explosives will solve everything - there are very few problems in MacLean novels that can't be solved by blowing them up.
So apart from the flaws, Alistair MacLean thrillers are all right really if you just want action, suspese, more action, insane plot twists in which you can't even trust the protagonist. The characters are, for me, the main let-down, but I think that this is due to the author's obsession with the plot; he keeps it moving, whether you like it or not, too quickly to keep track of, and he will not let anything get in the way of that. To this end, the characters are plot-devices more than anything else, something to oil the wheels of the narrative. These are thrillers, after all.
The first thing to mention about MacLean is that it is impossible to trust any of his characters to tell the truth; in short, they always lie, and the protagonist is always hiding something, even right at the end. This has the effect of making the plots of each book twisty and confusing, and a lot of the time I find myself more baffled than shocked. The plots can generally be summed up as this: a team is assembled (there's always the team, filled by various non-descript, blank-faced people whose main purpose are to get slowly killed off one by one as the story progresses, and then at the end the survivors get killed in one great clump) and has to embark on a daring mission, of which the future of the free world is at stake, only to discover as time goes on that there is a secret purpose for the mission, one which only the protagonist/team leader is aware of, and that their mission briefing was just a cover-up for the real goals. By the time I picked up Where Eagles Dare, my fourth MacLean story, I thought I was wise enough to guess what the hell was going on - it turned out to be even more bewildering than I had anticipated. It was almost ridiculous, but MacLean does seem to perform well in his own element.
The characters, unfortunately, prove to be the weakest part of the books, due to a distinct lack of development. The protagonists of each book are all cynical, ruthless, and secretive, good for the stories they're in, but they can easily be transplanted from one to another. As an example, Mallory from the Navarone stories has, at least for me, no discernable difference of character to Smith of Where Eagles Dare, and this problem is made all the more apparent by the fact that both of them have wisecracking, sarcastic sidekicks. The sidekick characters of Miller and Schaffer respectively are a little more interesting, owing to their stark contrast to the dour, secretive protagonists, but again it was their similarities between books that bugged me. It just makes me wonder that if MacLean liked writing these sorts of characters so much, then maybe he should have written using the same people, rather than just giving them a quick scrub and a change of name; if he had done this, then maybe he could have developed the characters a bit more between books. I read on Wikipedia that he only uses recurring characters once, and that was between the two Navarone books.
My final point about the characters brings us to 'the rest of the team', that group of people with interchangeable names who end up getting killed, one or more of whom turn out to be traitors, who then get killed. They're always introduced in a bunch at a time, making them very difficult to distinguish from one-another, and in many cases the only interesting thing about each one individually is when precisely in the plot they end up dying. None of them are sufficiently developed enough to warrant anything more than apathy at their passing, or a shrug when they turn out to be bad-guys, or slight annoyance when they quite rightly accuse the team leader of witholding information from them.
Now that my major gripes about the characters are out the way, I can mention some of the things I like about MacLean. Despite what I said about the main characters being recycled and under-developed, I do like them for the fact that they are calculating no-nonsense ruthless bastards, and they don't let anything get in the way of their jobs (which, of course, only they know the whole truth about). This is a good quality for characters to have in thrillers such as these, because MacLean will always make sure the challenge is impossible, something that only a character as hard as nails has any chance of surviving, let alone succeeding.
The plots of the stories are intense, and MacLean pulls every trick he can in order to increase the suspense - he knows a few tricks, but alas he uses all of them every single time, making the books a little repetative from time to time. The characters are put through terrible trials of endurance and intelligence, many of which test their abilities to bluff their way out of impossible situations; just put on a German uniform, act as though you know best, and the enemy troops will believe you're their superior officer. And when all else fails, explosives will solve everything - there are very few problems in MacLean novels that can't be solved by blowing them up.
So apart from the flaws, Alistair MacLean thrillers are all right really if you just want action, suspese, more action, insane plot twists in which you can't even trust the protagonist. The characters are, for me, the main let-down, but I think that this is due to the author's obsession with the plot; he keeps it moving, whether you like it or not, too quickly to keep track of, and he will not let anything get in the way of that. To this end, the characters are plot-devices more than anything else, something to oil the wheels of the narrative. These are thrillers, after all.
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