The Sparsholt Affair by Alan Hollinghurst

Since Hollinghurst’s debut novel ‘The Swimming Pool Library’ in 1988, he’s published a new book in approximately six year intervals. This is enough of a gap for each new novel by this much-lauded writer to feel like an event. His 2011 novel ‘The Stranger’s Child’ was a long ambitious story spanning a period of time from the First World War to close to the present day. In chronicling the transition of time, he charted how the reputation of a poem and its poet transform over many years and subsequent generations. In this new novel ‘The Sparsholt Affair’ Hollinghurst has adopted a similar narrative strategy that’s slightly more compressed spanning The Second World War to close to the present day. The story begins with a literary club in Oxford and the infatuation some members have for a sexually-appealing conventionally-masculine young man named David Sparsholt who is intent on enlisting in military service and settling down into a traditional marriage to his sweetheart. The subsequent sections leap forward in time to show the legacy of portraits and sexual scandal in a circumscribed social world of British society. In doing so, Hollinghurst creates a fascinating depiction of how reality doesn’t change but the frame around it and the way we view it significantly alters over time. In particular, the novel focuses on how views on homosexuality have evolved to alter the way in which individuals perceive themselves and negotiate their public identity as well as their sexual desire. It’s a tale that develops a unique power with its rich accumulation of detail and gains momentum as time slides forward to show the complexity of characters’ relationships and their legacies.

It’s interesting to compare this novel with John Boyne’s most recent novel “The Heart’s Invisible Furies” which similarly leap-frogs through the past century showing how changing attitudes about homosexuality personally impact the characters involved. However, Boyne’s novel is much more concentrated on a single gay man’s transforming self-perception in tandem with social and political events/progress in Ireland. Hollinghurst presents a much broader canvas with more shades of sexuality from bisexuality to a lesbian couple intent on having a child to gerontophilia. That’s not to say either of these novels is better or worse: they just have a different scope, writing style and way of chronicling shifts in social perceptions about sexuality. Where Boyne posits how his character of Cyril thrives and benefits from social development, Hollinghurst shows how the UK’s decriminalisation of homosexual acts in 1967 came too late for some individuals to ever recover from.

I read this as part of a mini bookgroup I belong to with writers Claire Fuller & Antonia Honeywell. We had an excellent discussion about it over lunch.

‘The Sparsholt Affair’ is something of a slow-burning novel. The accumulation of detail in Hollinghurst’s precise and eloquent writing takes on an increasingly profound meaning as the novel progresses. As time moves forward, we make connections, discover coincidences and uncover the surprising fates of a number of characters. In this way the author wonderfully captures, as he describes it at one point, “all the teasing oddity and secret connectedness of London life.” These interactions frequently involve the way sexual desire is either expressed or repressed. In fact, Hollinghurst persistently represents how these desires surge up in day to day life and “the hot-making magic of those sudden but longed-for moments when sex ran visibly close to the sunlit surface.” Early on, this largely takes the form of small circles of gay men who lust after an outwardly straight man. This felt problematic to me at first because straight-chasing is such a cliché of gay culture but it took on a greater degree of poignancy when contrasted with how Hollinghurst represents the expression of desire towards the end in more contemporary times. Now that there’s social media and hook-up apps the fulfilment of that once suppressed or misdirected desire feels like it’s tantalizingly within reach. But this raises poignant questions. How does the expression of desire transform in different social contexts? To what degree does power factor into the enactment or withholding of sex? Where is the overlap between desire and emotion?

These are all powerful questions which were also raised from an entirely different point of view and different context in Garth Greenwell’s “What Belongs to You.” Despite Hollinghurst’s novel being suffused with the melancholy of emotional and sexual disconnect, there are many funny observations made throughout and much of it is ultimately quite hopeful. It also feels brave in a way to be asking questions about what’s been hidden in the past and why the reality of what happened is still unnameable. At one point a character wonders “Things had happened, not quite named before; why not name them now?” This story shows how important it is that our perceptions evolve alongside those of the society around us.  

The Goldsmiths Prize 2017 Shortlist

If you want to tap into the most cutting edge fiction today, the Goldsmiths Prize (now in its fifth year) is one to watch. It was started in 2013 by Goldsmiths, a university in south London and the prize seeks to celebrate creative daring, reward fiction that breaks the mould and extends the possibilities of the novel form. Obviously, like any prize, it’s subjective. This isn’t a definitive list of all the excitingly experimental things being published today, but it gives a good guideline and it’s become one of my favourite prizes since past winners Eimear McBride’s “A Girl is A Half-Formed Thing”, Ali Smith’s “How to be Both”, Kevin Barry’s “Beatlebone” and Mike McCormack’s “Solar Bones” count among some of my favourite novels in recent years. And isn’t it funny that the previous two winners are both Irishmen who have the word “bone” in their book titles? Those Irish are so morbid! Ha!

I’ve read four of this year’s six shortlisted novels. I really admired both Sara Baume’s “A Line Made by Walking” and Nicola Barker’s “H(A)PPY”. I had very mixed feelings reading Jon McGregor’s “Reservoir 13” but in reflection I’ve found it a really moving novel and I’d be eager to read it again. I’m as baffled about what’s so good about Gwendoline Riley’s “First Love” now as I was when it was shortlisted for the Baileys Women’s Prize for Fiction earlier this year. It made me angry how withholding the narrative of this novel felt, but obviously others appreciate it much more. I’ve heard mixed things about Will Self’s novel “Phone” but I’ve appreciated his fiction in the past and I’m eager to read it. I hadn’t heard of “Playing Possum” by Kevin Davey before this prize and I love it when book prizes introduce me to writers’ work I wouldn’t have come across otherwise.

You can also watch me discuss my thoughts about the shortlist and experimental fiction here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xKbujRtyLWg

What do you think of the list? Do you like experimental fiction? Are you intrigued to read any of the books from the shortlist? It’s difficult to say, but I’m betting that “Reservoir 13” or “A Line Made by Walking” will win. Do you have a prediction?

Your Heart is a Muscle the Size of a Fist by Sunil Yapa

The protest surrounding the 1999 Seattle meeting of ministers from the World Trade Organization is a tragic event that raised awareness of the anti-globalization movement. Thousands of protesters blocked the streets leading up to where the meetings were due to take place. They faced serious police opposition as authorities forcefully tried to disperse the crowds using tear-gas and pepper spray while making many arrests of protestors and innocent bystanders alike. It’s truly shocking watching videos of policemen lifting the scarves covering protestors’ heads and spraying toxins directly into their faces. The complexity of this incident is heightened by the wide range of groups involved in the protest, but most were motivated by agendas involving fair labour policies, anti-capitalism and environmentalism. Author Sunil Yapa brings this clash to life in his novel “Your Heart is a Muscle the Size of a Fist” which is a dramatic depiction of this November day involving fictional characters of the Chief of Police, his estranged biracial son who becomes a part of the protests and several people involved in various sides of the conflict. He inserts individual stories and histories into this landmark event which has often been obfuscated by the confusing array of issues surrounding it. In doing so, he creates a poetically-charged and energetic tale that raises meaningful questions about our individual responsibilities as global citizens.

This novel raised a lot of personal feelings for me as it prompted me to wonder about my own stance as a citizen. In my late teenage years I spent a lot of time reading about and researching intentional communities and spent some time on one such place in Virginia. I was eager to strive towards a communal level of self-sufficiency while continuing to be an active part of society but not submitting to the trappings of a capitalist lifestyle where we often buy products that were produced by underpaid labourers in foreign countries or items that were produced in a way that overtaxes the environment. But, like most people, I got so caught up in getting a job and making a home with my partner to continue taking such a radical stance on the way I live within society. Sometimes I wonder how complacent this makes me and if I should take a more active role in living in a way which doesn’t have larger unseen negative effects upon the world.

This novel prompted me to think about how so many people are trapped in this condition. Also, when there are major clashes like this specific example everyone brings their own emotional baggage and historical issues with them. So the protest wasn’t just a conflict of two opposing ideologies about how society should be run, but is a wide-scale intermingling of emotionally-charged points of view. The characters include a wayward young man who has spent three years travelling the world, a woman who used to be involved in eco-terrorism, a police officer who had been involved in the LA riots and an economist from Sri Lanka trying to get a deal signed off. Yapa writes about them in a way which brings the weight of their pasts into the present. At times this does come across in a way which is slightly clichéd, but overall it is moving and effective.

One part which particularly struck me was when a character named Victor recalls his deceased mother and the books she left behind. Yapa describes how “He schooled himself from the boxes. He liked to read… liked the idea that he had inherited more than his dark skin and dark hair from the woman who disappeared… And for a moment the loneliness that was always with him left him alone.” I found it so emotional how this showed the way this legacy of knowledge can be passed down and that he could be comforted by the same words and ideas which his mother found so inspiring. This makes what subsequently happens to these books all the more shocking and upsetting.

“Your Heart is a Muscle the Size of a Fist” ultimately traces the line where our concepts and ideals about what we want our society to be are tested with our bodies and physical safety. The protestors at this event put themselves in danger and unfortunately suffered from a tragic mishandling of public order. This novel is a testament to that bravery and gives a dynamic view on how we can better understand these clashes which will continue to occur in times of political instability. I'd particularly recommend this novel to anyone who appreciated Ryan Gattis' novel "All Involved".

LonesomeReader is Four Years Old Today!

I started this blog exactly four years ago. In a way it feels like my little safe haven away from the noise of normal life where I can mull over what I’m reading to my heart’s content. I’m truly grateful for people who want to engage with me discussing what they’re reading too. Now that I’ve built up quite a back catalogue of reviews one of the best things is when someone has just finished reading a book I read years ago and comments on that old post. Suddenly, my thoughts and feelings for that book come rushing back to me while we have a discussion in the present. Having that sort of connection helps assuage the feeling of loneliness which always goes with reading and makes it much more fun. It’s a lovely thing.

Since I like to mug for the camera and come up with creative ways of photographing myself with what I’ve been reading, I’ve also built up quite an album of book selfies. So here’s a selection from the past four years. Thanks for reading my blog and watching my Booktube videos and let me know what you’ve been reading lately… I always love hearing about what good books I’m missing out on.

The Woodcutter and His Family by Frank McGuinness

I came to a funny realization when I was a large way through reading “The Woodcutter and His Family” by Frank McGuinness; this is a novel about James Joyce and his family. That should have been obvious. The thing is I don’t often read the descriptions on books. I prefer to plunge in. On the back of this novel, it first describes it as a story about a writer dying in Zurich in 1941. I only read these few sentences before starting the novel itself but if I’d continued I’d have noticed the name James Joyce. As it was, I started reading and continued on while only occasionally thinking that these people sound similar to James Joyce and his family. But although I've read Joyce’s major books, I know little about the famous author’s life beyond that he had poor eyesight, lived in Paris and had a daughter who suffered from mental illness. However, before I finished this novel I was listening to an Irish podcast called Bookish which is run by two booksellers. They mentioned this upcoming novel about James Joyce and it suddenly clicked that this was indeed who I was reading about. Obviously this cast the story in a more sensational light given Joyce’s rockstar status as the godfather of Irish literature and one of the great Modernist writers of the 20th century. But it didn’t change my feeling of it being a beautifully written, tender and psychologically-complex story of family life.

In recent years, there have been a number of novels which take the reader “inside” the lives of the 20th century’s most lauded writers including “Arctic Summer” by Damon Galgut, “Z: A Novel of Zelda Fitzgerald” by Therese Anne Fowler, “The Master” by Colm Toibin and “Mansfield, A Novel” by C.K. Stead. But, rather than focusing solely on Joyce’s perspective, Frank McGuinness gives equal space in his novel to son Archie, wife Bertha and daughter Beatrice (named differently from Joyce's actual family) before plunging into James Joyce’s point of view. Of course, each of these family members is defined in their relation to the great writer and reference his impending death so there’s no doubt that he’s the central focus of this story. However, the meat of each family member’s tale delves more into their own personal obsessions and feelings about other family members. These show a touching respect for the problems that each individual faced and created a composite portrait of the wildly different takes on family history each member retains.

No doubt, a lot of Joyce fans will enjoy this personal and poetic take on the lives of James Joyce and his family members. In particular, in James’ section it delves into his notoriously luke-warm personal interactions with Proust. Joyce hilariously refers to Proust’s magnum opus as “Cooking for Phantoms.” But it also lingers on Joyce’s strong feelings about his parents and his conflict with Bertha over Beatrice’s treatment. The section from Beatrice’s perspective is particularly fascinating for the idiosyncratic and coded way she views the world. While I’m not sure the final story of Joyce’s artful depiction of their family life was necessary, it nevertheless provides a moving ending. More than its depiction of the great writer, this is a novel which gracefully encompasses so much of what makes Irish literature mesmerising. “The Woodcutter and His Family” is suffused with a bewitchingly morbid sense of humour and voices which insist on being heard.

Elmet by Fiona Mozley

One of the reasons I enjoy following book prizes so much is that (as well as hoping to see books I’ve loved make their lists) they often introduce me to authors and books that wouldn’t have been on my radar otherwise. I think it’s fair to say that the general reading public had not heard of writer Fiona Mozley or her debut novel “Elmet” before it was longlisted for this year’s Booker Prize – partly because it wasn’t published yet. (Its release was pushed forward because of its listing for this prize.) This might turn out to be both a blessing and a curse because it will put this new author under a heavier amount of scrutiny and criticism than a debut novel would typically receive. “Elmet” has been published by John Murray under their ‘JM Originals’ list – an excellent series first launched two years ago that self consciously seeks to promote fiction that is “fresh and distinctive” and that also “provokes and entertains”. It’s the same list which also produced Jessie Greengrass’ extraordinary and award-winning book of short stories “An Account of the Decline of the Great Auk, According to the One Who Saw It.” Now this series has put out another big prize contender. “Elmet” fits all those descriptive aims for the ‘JM Originals’ list perfectly. It’s a curiously eerie tale about a small working class community whose meaning expands to say so much more about society in general and builds to a thrilling climax.

Adolescent Daniel is wandering northwards begging for food and barely surviving. We’re given sections of his journey in italics and these are interspersed with longer passages about his unusual upbringing. He’s mostly lived a cloistered existence with his physically intimidating, strong-willed father John (who he only refers to as Daddy) and his older sister Cathy in a house that Daddy built for them in a remote copse. They’ve had little to no contact with larger society other than a smattering of locals including a woman who gives John’s children a limited home education that’s partly centred around reading obsolete instruction manuals. Their lives are mostly harmonious until the local landowner Mr Price comes knocking along with his arrogant, spoiled sons. Civil unrest is being waged by the predominantly poor locals who break their backs for the few wealthy members of the community. Although he sought a self-sufficient and quiet life in this remote location, Daddy gets roped into these struggles and their peaceful lifestyle is interrupted.

The novel is partly concerned with the mystery of what motivated Daddy to remove his children from larger society as he’s done. Tales of rogue survivalist fathers inflicting their extreme lifestyles on children have been the focus of a number of recent novels including Claire Fuller’s “Our Endless Numbered Days” and Gabriel Tallent’s “My Absolute Darling”. In both cases, the father figures are darkly disturbing, but here the father is surprisingly tender despite his radical life choices, violent history and domineering appearance. This gives an interesting slant on the story and raises compelling questions about how children should be raised in a society which is unequivocally unjust. In this circumscribed existence Daddy can better protect his children and raise them with values devoid of the larger society’s prejudices, but it also preserves their overall ignorance of the world: “Everything he did now was to toughen us up against something unseen. He wanted to strengthen us against the dark things in the world. The more we knew of it, the better we would be prepared. And yet there was nothing of the world in our lives, only stories of it. We had been taken out of our school and our hometown to live with Daddy in a small copse.”

One of the most intriguing results of their isolated existence is that this brother and sister grow up at a remove from traditional gender roles. Cathy likes to wander through the forest and tries to engage other boys in sport while Daniel is drawn to more domestic duties frequently doing the cooking and cleaning for the whole family. There’s a fascinating section where Daniel describes how he doesn’t consciously think about himself as one gender or another. It’s a striking way of portraying how we all primarily inhabit our lives as individuals devoid of identity labels which we’re often only made aware of when we come into contact with others who only initially see what’s superficial. Daniel’s path towards physical and sexual maturity is interestingly portrayed, but I would have liked to seen it explored even more in the narrative.

It’s skilful how Mozley kept me hooked throughout this story’s unusual situation, dropping clues so that I could gradually and satisfyingly piece things together and ramping up the tension in a way which kept me on edge. Who could say what her prospects are for advancing in the competition for this year’s Booker Prize which includes so many astounding novels? But I’m glad to have been introduced to a writer whose vision is so unique and shows such tremendous promise. I hope Mozley continues to publish more.