Last year I decided I should do more reading, so set myself the target of wolfing down 100 books. I'm delighted to say I achieved this target, and so this year I'm allowed to read nothing and just eat biscuits and roll around laughing. Before I get down to that, though, here's what I thought about some of those books. Specifically, books 46 to 50.
Casino Royale by Ian Fleming
I've watched all the Bond films, and I've read a few books about Bond, but until now I've never read one of the actual novels. So where better to start than the first one? Well, the answer might be, "anywhere else."
I expected it to be different to the films. Of course I did. Movies are a whole medium of their own, with very distinct pleasures and rhythms. They tend towards the kinetic and visual while books allow for more focus on character, theme and interior worlds. But I didn't realise how weird this was going to be.
For a start, James Bond is much more vulnerable than I expected. I'd heard that Bond's character was pretty set in the books - a raging misogynist, callous and violent, with an ego the size of a nuclear bomb. I suppose he might become that in later books, but here, James is a much more fragile figure. He's less certain of himself than you might expect - aware that he's running on luck and bluster a lot of the time. I reckon I could be a secret agent if the main qualities were "Make it up as you go along and hope for the best."
Secondly, and this is very strange given the success of the series, Bond is... well he's rubbish. He doesn't achieve very much by his own effort, relying for the most part on good luck and the kindess of others. Time after time he gets himself into scrapes and has to be rescued by other agents. His mission report at the end should consist of a series of sheepish apologies and a series of exaggerated 'phew!' gestures.
Worst of all - and this is a spoiler for both book and film - the ending is ridiculous. You know how in the film he works out that Vesper has betrayed him, and goes on a big chase and shooting spree? And then there's a really moving bit where he tries to save her despite her betrayal, only to lose her to a watery grave? And most of Venice blows up and sinks? Well, none of that happens here.
Venice not sinking I can get behind - we're not in a medium of visual spectacle. And less emphasis on shooting and running about makes sense when you're working on the page instead of the screen. But do you want to know how the book ends? It ends like this. Vesper kills herself and leaves a note which says "I was a spy." James Bond goes back to mission control and says, "Well that went terribly," and then the book ends.
What the hell James Bond? How did you get a second book? You're the worst at being a spy. I can only assume that future books vindicate you, or it's going to be a series of stories about Goldfinger, Dr. No and Blofeld accidentally falling into shark pools and you shrugging and saying, "I guess I accidentally won again."
Around the World in 80 Games by Marcus du Satoy
Thos was a blast. It's a brilliant conceit, which is pretty much summed up by the title. The author (Satoy? Du Satoy? How do you say it when people have those funny little extra bits on their name?) takes us on a tour of the globe and tells us about the games that were made in different countries.
What's interesting about this is not just the basic learning of where games came from, and how they came into being, but also the way games reflect the culture in which they were made. Every game is a Rorschach test of its place of origin. What do we value? What do we want? What does it mean to win, and what is the best way to get there? The answers are as varied as the cultures explored, and it's good to look at the world through this lens. "Winning" can mean very different things, and it doesn't do to assume that everyone has the same notion of victory.
There's a real beauty to the way the book is laid out too, with some great illustrations of the boards and pieces as they evolve through time. The writing style is light and full of personality and the general experience is of being in conversation with a super interesting guy. Although of course in real life you wouldn't be able to have a conversation, because he'd be spending hours explaining how to play "Strategic Donkey Wars" or something.
The only thing that I found a little difficult about the book was all the maths. Du Savoy (I've gone for the 'Du' as part of his last name. I just don't know. But I felt like I had to commit) has a very 'maths' head on his shoulders, and so enjoys exploring the mechanics of the games through equations. There was one point, with some very simple maths, where I thought I was enjoying this. "Ah," I said to myself, "this will be fascinating and I will enjoy engaging with the numerical aspect of games." Soon, though, the maths got much more complicated, and I revised my opinion to, "Stupid maths are stupid and I'm going to skip those bits."
The Pelican Brief by John Grisham
You'll be unsurprised to learn that I'd never read a Grisham. Yes, he may be one of the biggest selling authors on the planet. But it turns out that's not sufficient to snag the attention of this wandery boy. I've watched The Firm about fifteen times, if that helps. Great soundtrack.
So I thought I'd see what all the fuss was about. And my verdict is... he's alright, isn't he? Decent storytelling with a good balance of intrigue and action, as if he was writing with one eye on the eventual Hollywood adaptation. A clever plot with lots of twisty turny bits that make you say, "Well there's an unexpected development!" out loud, to the annoyance of your wife, who is trying to crochet.
It's about lawyers, of course. The other thing I know about Grisham - apart from him writing The Firm - is that he likes writing about lawyers, and he knows all about lawyers, and maybe at some point he was a lawyer. I myself do not care about lawyers one tiny bit. I find the their world boring and stupid and I'm very glad that other people know about it, so that I don't have to. As a consequence I often had no idea whatsoever what was happening plot wise. Luckily the broad brush strokes were generally communicated by the reactions of the characters. If it was a bad law-thing, they would go "Oh no! Disaster!" and cry. If it was a good law-thing, they would rejoice and shout "Yippee!" and such.
One thing that's not great is the representation of women. The main gimmick of the story seems to be, "There's this very clever law student but, get this - she's a girl!" All the men are brilliant by definition, and cruise about the story doing excellent masculine things. But somehow the girl outwits them all, despite the massive handicap of having two X chromosomes. I think there's some feminist intention in here, but it's rather overwhelmed by a) the lack of other meaningful female characters and b) the countless times we are told how hot she is.
The Psychology Workbook for Writers by Darian Smith
Another in the series "Shall I get on with writing my own book, or would it be rather more fun to read yet another book about storytelling? "
I do enjoy books like this and it certainly is easier than wrestling with my pillock of a novel. Anything is easier than writing. Why do you think I'm doing this blog? Do you think I genuinely believe that anyone cares what books I read last year? Of course not. It's an exercise in futility. It's a displacement activity.
And yes, I said 'anything' is easier than writing a book. Fighting in wars. Going into space. Learning the harp. I don't care. At least in a war your opponent doesn't say, "All the fighting you did yesterday was a waste of time and in fact made things worse." At least space doesn't hide so that you can't even work out where to start. At least a harp doesn't call your fingers 'derivative'.
Anyway. This book was fine. It gave me loads of ideas for things that might make my characters more interesting, like internal conflict and moral development and stuff. Which is all very well, but feels a bit advanced from where I am. What I need is a book called 'How to make your characters behave, even a bit, and do any of things you need them to do so that the plot works, the pricks."
Still the Beast is Feeding by Rob Bagnall
Last year I went to see The Rocky Horror Show. The theatrical experience I mean, not the film. I've seen the film loads. When I was a teenager I became mildly obsessed with it and watched it every day and sang the songs to myself at school and hang on I've just realise why I wasn't very popular.
After watching the show, which featured a very Eddie-Izzard like turn from Jason Donovan, I remembered how much I loved the show. I also realised that I didn't really know much about its genesis.
I was having a post-show drink with my viewing companions, loudly telling everyone how well I knew the dialogue and what a great Riff Raff I would have made, and how I wondered when they'd stopped doing the 'audience call-and-response' stuff. And one of my friends asked how the audience interaction started in the first place. I drew breath to answer, but when it came time to exhale, my brain offered up only a folorn, empty 'Dunno.'
It occured to me that although I was word perfect on 'Hot Patootie Bless My Soul' (first song I ever sung in a band, fact-fans), I didn't really know anything about the production of the show. How did this story of weird, outsider sexuality become this sort of family favourite sing along hit? Was there, I wondered, a book that would tell me everything I wanted to know?
The answer, of course, is yes. And more than that. Here's a book that told me everything I wanted to know, and then quite a lot of things I didn't want to know. It's a very long book - the longest I read all year, I reckon. And let me tell you, if it was half as long it would have been twice as fun.
It begins well. We learn exactly how the show came to life and why. We meet Richard O'Brien, the spindly genius behind the show, and see his crazy vision brought to life in true Frankenstein fashion, all disparate parts and chaos and lightning. Then we journey through the show's early iterations - from cult hit loved only by fetishistic outsiders to weird mainstream hit with its own film. This stuff is great, and really scratches my itch.
Then the second half of the book begins. We trudge through decades of different productions of the show, learning more than we ever needed to about the varying casts and how much they hated each other. I got the strong impression that content was being led here by 'who is available to be interviewed'. I was quite bored after a while, and became desperate for the book to end.
That said. Some of the most intersting content is hiding here among the sludge of actors whining about each other. There's great stuff about the way success and mainstream acceptance dilute the vision of the show. Of particular interest is the way the audience interaction goes from 'fun collaborative blurring of the lines' to 'extremely irritating onslaught of drunken pricks who make it impossible to actually do the show'. If this had been a tighter, less indulgent section, I would have had nothing but kind words.
Ah well. I did buy a massive book about the history of the play, so really I've no-one to blame but myself. Why isn't everything exactly as I want it? Guess what's in my head, authors!
That's it for now. See you next time, if you can stand the thought of it.
Go forward to see what I thought of books 51 - 55, here (when I write it).
Or back, to enjoy my musings on books 41 - 45, here.
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