wot i red on my hols by alan robson (octageneric novem)

Eight of Nine?

C. A. Fletcher’s novel The Two of us at the End of the World is an after the apocalypse novel. The apocalypse in question is the fact that human fertility has collapsed to almost (but not quite) zero. Nobody is really sure why this has happened, but as a direct consequence humanity is now staring extinction in the face. This is not a new scenario, in and of itself. The obvious comparisons to make are with Brian W. Aldiss’ Greybeard and P. D. James’ Children of Men, both of which start with exactly the same assumption as Fletcher’s story. However I firmly believe that The Two of us at the End of the World is by far and away the best novel of the three – it is utterly different from the others in both tone and mood, and much less despairing, though it is not without its (sometimes terrible) tragedies.

The bulk of the novel takes place some 200 years after G-Day, the day when the genetic catastrophe was identified and first announced. It follows the adventures of Mouse and Cat who struggle to survive in an almost empty and slowly decaying world. Once they had lived in a small but thriving community. Then strangers came from the sea (Cat insists that they were Russians) bringing with them an infection that killed everybody except Mouse and Cat. The world seems much emptier to the two of them now than once it was. Cat, who experienced the loss of her family directly, remains distrustful of outsiders and is very self-reliant, Mouse was very young when his family died and he has no real memory of the disaster other than the stories he has heard from Cat. Consequently he is a little more trusting of strangers (Russians) than she is. Perhaps new people could help the two of them to make some sort of progress. Perhaps their current situation could be ameliorated by cooperating with other people? He’s an optimist, but nevertheless the future all still feels a bit vague to him and he has no real idea of just how any progress might be achieved or exactly what it might entail.

The close relationship between Mouse and Cat is tested almost to breaking point when they rescue two semi-feral sisters who, of course, have their own traumatic pasts, just like everybody else. Mouse’s optimism about this new situation contrasts strongly with Cat’s scepticism and they argue. A lot.

Every so often, the novel segues into the past, to the years immediately following the initial population collapse. These interludes tell us what happens to one of the rare fertile couples who lived in those chaotic times. This gives the reader some insight into just how the world might have progressed (if that’s the right word) from those early years to the world that Mouse and Cat are now experiencing. This authorial technique gives the novel a pleasing intellectual rigour that makes the world, both past and present, feel very, very real.

But don’t be fooled – the story is by no means as dry as that general description might make it sound. I honestly couldn’t put the book the book down. I identified so strongly with Mouse and Cat that the tension of their story had me on the edge of my seat – I absolutely had to know what happened next. And what happened next never failed to both excite and intrigue. Every page ratcheted up the tension and I simply could not stop reading until I got to the (very satisfying) end.

* * * *

My Soul to Keep by Tananarive Due is the first volume of her African Immortals series. However the novel works very well as a stand alone story.

Dawit is a five-hundred-year-old immortal, a member of a small sect of (semi)-Christians from Ethiopia. The founder of their brotherhood was present at the crucifixion of Jesus. He collected blood from the corpse of the Christ and used it to give the gift of immortality to the group. They call themselves the Life Brothers. Not only are they long-lived, they also cannot be killed. No matter how seriously they are injured, they will always recover from their injuries, though the recovery may well be painful and prolonged. Mostly they keep themselves isolated from the rest of humanity, but some of them do venture out into the world.

Dawit has had many names over the centuries and he has experienced many adventures, triumphs and tragedies, lives and deaths. For a long time he was a slave in nineteenth century America. That episode ended when he and his wife were lynched, hanged from a tree branch, slowly suffocating while their murderers watched gleefully. She, being mortal, died and Dawit himself was forced to feign death as he hung there beside her until their killers went away and he could finally free himself.

In the early twentieth century Dawit became a jazz musician and he was very influential in the development of the art. Now, nearly a century later. his early jazz recordings are much sought after and much prized by collectors.

Tragedies and triumphs, triumphs and tragedies, lives and deaths.

The bulk of the novel takes place in modern times. Dawit, now calling himself David, is married to Jessica, a reporter. They have a daughter called Kira. They are very much in love. To begin with Jessica knows nothing of David’s background – as far as she is concerned they are a normal couple, living a normal life. However the Life Brothers are closing in on them. They want David to return to the fold, to give up his life in the outside world. They are willing to go to any lengths to make that happen.

Jessica is investigating a series of unexplained deaths in nursing homes with a view to writing an article exposing the mistreatment of the residents. One of those deaths was that of a very old lady called Rosalie who, though Jessica does not (yet) know this, was actually David’s daughter from a previous marriage – David’s children do not inherit his immortality.

Because of the influence of the Life Brothers, close friends and family begin dying around Jessica and it finally becomes clear to her that David is hiding something. Reluctantly, David is forced to tell her about his history, and the game is afoot…

On the one hand this novel is just a thrilling and ingenious story of David’s struggles to fit into the world as the centuries fly past. But on the other hand, and much more importantly, it is also the story of the black experience of the world (particularly of the American world). The writing is skilful and the themes are brilliantly brought to life. The whole story reminded me very much of Octavia Butler’s similarly themed novels, and I know of no higher praise than that. Tananarive Due is a superb writer, a writer to watch.

* * * *

A Beginner’s Guide To Breaking And Entering is a stand alone novel by Andrew Hunter Murray.

The story begins with the narrator, who calls himself Al – though that is not his real name – sitting down at a clunky old PC in the Information Suite of HM Prison Brixton where he intends to write about the series of (unfortunate) events that have put him into prison to await his trial.

Al’s day job does not pay very much. He cannot afford to live in the style to which he would like to become accustomed. So he has become an interloper, a person who breaks into the luxury houses of people who are currently away from home for one reason or another: Perhaps they are working overseas. Maybe they are on holiday, or maybe they are living in one of their other residences. Whatever the reason, they aren’t at home now and all that luxury is just going to waste. So Al makes use of it, living the high life until the owners return, whereupon he moves out and starts all over again somewhere else

He justifies this practice by insisting that "[I’m] taking space that isn’t used and making it useful again. Frankly, [I’m] battling the housing crisis. These places are [all] unoccupied. And the ones I go for are all second homes (or third, or fourth). Why not put them to good use?"

Eventually circumstances find him in the company of other interlopers, a gang of three called Em, Elle and Jonny. Together they break into a former vicarage near Bridling in the Cotswolds. The owner, they have been reliably informed, is away in Dubai. However when they enter his house they find the owner sitting in his study pointing a gun at them. Oops!

The front doorbell rings. The owner answers it and is immediately shot dead by person or persons unknown. The way is now clear for Al and his friends to make a quick exit. But they soon come to the realisation that in doing so they have inadvertently left traces behind that might identify them to the police, or even, heaven forbid, to the murderer(s). Neither prospect is enticing.

Al suggests that they should leave the country until the heat dies down. Perhaps the police will find the real murderer. But Al’s idea is outvoted by the others. They feel that investigating the crime themselves and discovering the identity of the murderer, together with the motive for the killing, represents their best chance of shifting the police focus away from them. Given that Al is now currently awaiting trial, it is clear that this idea will not prove to be a huge success…

As their ill-fated plan unravels across the pages, multiple luxury properties change hands, there’s a big-money fraud involved, together with international espionage and even a spot of high treason. What a heady mixture! You name the complication and Al will find a kitchen sink hiding inside it. This is a most ingenious story, cleverly plotted, enormous fun and, of course, it’s nothing but fluff. I loved every mad word of it.

* * * *

Agrippa by Robert Harris tells of the life and times of the eponymous Roman general. He lived through a dramatic few years in the history of Rome. It all started (if anything can be said to have an actual start rather than being more of a gradual coming together of multiple strands) with the assassination of Julius Caesar which itself led directly to the formation of a triumvirate consisting of Mark Antony, Octavian and an obscure general called Lepidus, who history has largely forgotten. The triumvirate inherited the governance of the Empire and instigated a series of martial and political manoeuvrings that culminated in an enormous battle on the plains of Phillipi where Brutus and Cassius, Caesar’s assassins, finally received their just deserts.

After that the triumvirate began to fall apart from internal bickering. More military campaigns followed leading to the battle of Actium, probably the largest naval battle that ever took place in the ancient world. Mark Antony was soundly defeated and fled back to Egypt with his tail between his legs where he sunk into depression and dissipation and eventually committed suicide leaving Octavian, now known as the Emperor Augustus, the undisputed master of the whole Roman world.

Agrippa fought alongside Mark Antony at Phillipi and he was the general in charge of the Roman fleet at Actium. It is probably true to say that without him Octavian would have ended up as a mere footnote in the history of Rome. Instead he became an all-powerful and important Emperor. Without Agrippa it is likely that both his and our world would would have turned out to be a very different one indeed. Would it have been a better one? Who knows?

It is a measure of Robert Harris’ skill(!) as a writer that he manages to make all these excitingly dramatic events sound extremely dull and tedious. The text reads like the transcription of a series of boring lectures given by a professor who has been saying the same things over and over again to generations of students and who no longer feels any involvement with the events he is describing. Occasionally, when Robert Harris remembers that he is writing a novel rather than a text book, he throws in a bit of flat and unconvincing dialogue before he goes back to lecturing again. It’s all rather unsatisfactory.

I was very surprised to have to come to this conclusion. Normally I love Harris’ work, particularly his ancient history novels – his trilogy about the life and times of Cicero was utterly brilliant. And there, I suspect, might lie the explanation for the failure of this book. There is just too much material here to do justice to it in such a short space. Harris tried (and failed) to summarize it entertainingly, but in the end the task defeated him. And in a sense, who can blame him? This was a pivotal period in the history of the world and it needs a similarly vast canvas to do it justice. Harris set out to create an enormous oil painting, but he ended up with a tiny, delicate watercolour instead. It was an approach doomed to failure from the start. I think he simply bit off a little bit more than he could comfortably chew.

* * * *

Kate Atkinson’s latest novel, Noble Selves is set in 1951. The war has been over for six years, but Britain remains in the doldrums. Life is very austere – wartime rationing is still in force and the country is as near bankrupt as makes no difference. Morale is at an all time low. In an attempt to raise the spirits of the people, the government has instigated the Festival of Britain – a celebration of national unity designed to show everyone that Britain’s creativity and ingenuity remains an intact world-beating force to be reckoned with...

Harry Flynn spent most of his war in Burma working on the infamous railway (think Bridge on the River Kwai). He was one of the few survivors of that terrible time and he has returned to Britain a broken man. Today we would say he was suffering from PTSD, though in 1951 they had no word for what ailed him. Nevertheless it was a condition that was all too commonly seen in 1950s Britain and very few families escaped its effects. My own uncle had been in the Royal Army Medical Corps and he was a member of one of the first medical teams to enter Belsen after the camp was liberated. To say that the experience scarred him would be an enormous understatement…

In an attempt to find something constructive to do with his life, Flynn has taken on a temporary job compiling the festival’s poetry anthology. It is a thankless task – the poems submitted for inclusion are uniformly dire.

Flynn’s colleagues are mostly a likeable bunch and he gets on well with them. To an extent they compensate for the tedium of his job. Terence,14 years old and generally referred to only as "the Boy" is a cockney wide-boy who knows far too much about every racket going. He is too young for the war to have made much of an impression on him and consequently he is insatiably curious about everybody’s war service. Badger is rotund, affable and posh. He did something secret in the war and changes the subject when asked about it. Evans is a (literally) battle-scarred Welshman who was shipwrecked in the war. He considers himself lucky to be alive when so many of his comrades are not.

For various reasons, the team fall woefully behind schedule, Maud Ogilvie, a dour Scotswoman is appointed to sort them out. It soon becomes clear that Maude has several fingers in a multitude of pies, all of them vague and mysterious. Fixing the administration of this particular festival team may be low on her list of priorities.

The stage is now set, and a complex and rather noir plot unfolds. Flynn goes for a drink with an attractive Parisian lady called Delphine. The next day Flynn wakes up bruised, battered and bleeding with no memory at all of what happened after he and Delphine parted. And now Delphine has disappeared. Has she run away from some unknown peril or Is she dead? Nobody knows but a lot of people care.

Meanwhile the festival proceeds apace. A competition is organized to bake a festival cake. The winner of the competition is one Mitzi Blinkhorn, a makeup-slathered ghoul festooned in costume jewellery, whose cake is utterly repugnant. How did such a catastrophic cake win such a prestigious competition? Mitzi’s husband Archie is a sleazy ex-military man who appears to have some influence with shady people in shady places. Perhaps that explains it.

I felt quite pleased with myself when it occurred to me that Mitzi and Archie were a viciously satirical send up of Fanny and Johnny Craddock, the television chefs who taught a whole generation of Britons how not to cook food. Fanny’s catch phrase was "...and here’s one that I prepared earlier...". We never once saw her make a dish all the way from start to finish, largely because she was far too inept to manage such a complex task!

And then, once I’d reached the end of the book, I read Kate Atkinson’s afterword to it in which she said (among other things) that Mitzi and Archie were "obviously" parodies of Fanny and Johnny Craddock. So much for my skilful literary insight. Hah!

Flynn is now increasingly being seen as suspect number one in Delphine’s disappearance and possible death. His attempts to clear his name lead him into bed with a lady called Lydia who has a delightfully pragmatic approach to sex and who often shocks Flynn with her open vocabulary and inventive sexuality. She felt a little out of place to me. I remember the 1950s as being rather prim and proper (the 1971 West End play, No Sex Please, We’re British did not come out of nowhere). But perhaps I was just too young to notice what was really going on.

Meanwhile the festival organisation lumbers on. An official festival cow is appointed and a consignment of 208 plaster of paris doves significantly symbolize something or other. A marvellous machine extrudes sticks of festival rock with the patriotic words ‘Festival of Britain’ running all the way through every stick. The Boy Terence is particularly thrilled by this miracle and, toffee hammer in hand, he takes much joy in the smashing of the sticks into edible smithereens. A plethora of busty Nell Gwyns offer oranges (and perhaps even their own charms) for sale..

The plot thickens in much the same way that Mitzi’s gravies and sauces do not. Thugs, fillies, floozies, fascists, spies and good eggs abound. Maude, Lydia and Badger all turn out to be secret squirrels with hidden agendas involving some naughty things that Delphine did during the war. Archie and Mitzi are also closely involved with the goings-on and there is more than a hint of blackmail in the air. They both come to appropriately sticky ends because of it.

Thanks to my awesome literary analytical skills I found myself taken completely by surprise when the complex explanation for all these events finally revealed what was really going on. The whole thing turned out to be extraordinarily satisfying.

Golly, I do love a good Kate Atkinson novel, and this is one of her best.

* * * *

In Miriam’s Full English, Miriam Margolyes sets out to define just what it is that makes the British so very, very British. Being Miriam Margolyes, this naturally involves a lot of rude, crude and lewd observations which often managed to make me laugh out loud at both their cleverness and (surprisingly) their appropriateness. She really understands the British all the way from top to bottom because, of course, she is one.

And so, in pursuit of her thesis, she regales us with, "...memories and mammaries, Arsenal and arseholes, politics, filth, and absolutely everything in between."

Among many other interesting facts, her book taught me that "T. S. Eliot" is an anagram (and almost a palindrome) of "Toilets". This probably explains quite a lot about Eliot’s poetry…

Don’t make the mistake of confusing Miriam’s foul mouth with shallow thinking. The more I learn about Miriam's opinions the more I find myself agreeing with her. She uses humour (and filth) as a sharp-edged weapon, and because she is very insightful her observations are correspondingly quick to cut to the heart of things. Her vocabulary and her anecdotes are deliberately designed to shock the strait-laced, and more power to her for that. If you are shocked by what she says, perhaps it is time to ask yourself why you feel that way. Perhaps it is time to start thinking instead of merely reacting. Perhaps you deserve to be dragged out of your comfortable, artificial, and often merely fashionable, certainties.

Miriam Margolyes is a national (and notional) treasure.

* * * *

To me, and to many of my generation, Gene Krantz was the voice of mission control during the flights of Mercury, Gemini and Apollo. He was there for every milestone, through failure and through success. Failure is Not an Option is his autobiography.

I was eager to read this book because of the vital role that Krantz played in so many important space missions. I was keen to get the inside story, as it were. I was not disappointed – the chapters about those space flights are fascinating and informative both technically and personally. I learned a lot that I had not known before about the things that went wrong on the various flights and how those problems were researched and solved in record time. In addition, I learned heaps about the people themselves, both the people on the ground in mission control and those in the space capsules that the mission controllers were guiding.

I must confess though that the chapters about Gene Krantz’s life and times outside of NASA were less than interesting. He comes across as a somewhat dull man, socially and politically naive, unthinkingly patriotic and far, far too religious.

Nevertheless his two lives, inside and outside of the mission control room, do make for an interesting contrast. There is no doubt at all of his fierce commitment to the space missions. His genuine grief at the tragedy of Apollo 1, when astronauts Gus Grissom, Ed White, and Roger Chaffee died as fire engulfed the capsule they were testing, was very moving indeed. But where he really came in to his own was in the skilful way with which he managed the effects of the the explosion that crippled Apollo 13 on its way to the moon. He successfully turned that mission from what could all too easily have been a tragedy into a triumph, and he brought the crew safely back to Earth. He deserves every praise for that magnificent effort.

Read all about it.